UNCLE 

JOE'S 

LINCOLN 


EDWARD  A. 
STEINER 


LINCOLN  ROOM 


from 
CARL  SANDBURG'S  LIBRARY 


UNCLE   JOE'S    LINCOLN 


BY  EDWARD  A.  STEINER 
UNCLE  JOE'S  LINCOLN 

Cloth net  $1.00 

NATIONALIZING  AMERICA 

Cloth net  #1.15 

INTRODUCING  THE  AMERICAN  SPIRIT 

Cloth net  #1.15 

FROM  ALIEN  TO  CITIZEN 

The  Story  of  My  Life  in  America. 

Cloth    .   .    .   .   , net  $1.75 

THE  IMMIGRANT  TIDE — ITS  EBB 
AND  FLOW 

Cloth .   net  #1.75 

ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT 

Cloth net  £1.75 

AGAINST  THE  CURRENT 

Simple  Chapters  from  a  Complex  Life. 

Cloth net  $1.50 

THE  BROKEN  WALL 

Stories  of  the  Mingling  Folk. 

Cloth net  |I.I5 

THE  MEDIATOR 

A  Tale  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New. 
Cloth    .   .    .   .   , net  $1.25 

TOLSTOY, THE  MAN  AND  His  MESSAGE 

A   Biographical   Interpretation.     Revised  and 

enlarged. 

Cloth        net  £1.50 

THE  DOCTOR  DOG 

Boards net  .500. 

THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  CHERRIES 

Boards    .   . net  .500. 

THE  CUP  OF  ELIJAH 

Idyll  Envelope  Series.     Decorated  .  net  .250. 


Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 


By 

EDWARD  A.  STEINER 

Author  of  "Introducing  the  American  Spirit,' 
"  On  the  Trail  of  the  Immigrant " 


New   York  Chicago 

Fleming  H.  Reve//  Company 

London         and        Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  17  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh :  75  Princes  Street 


tf  C 


This  book  is  dedicated  to  my 
boyhood*  s  friend 

Jacob  Mandl 

who  in  these  troubled  days  is  serving 
his  adopted  country  efficiently  and 
modestly  and  who  though  he  has  re- 
mained poor  has  made  others  rich  by 
his  upright  and  unselfish  life 


FOREWORD 

TO   Mr.  Walter  P.  McGuire,   of  the 
American  Boy  Magazine,  I  am  in- 
debted for  the  suggestion  that  I  re- 
write and  enlarge  my  little  sketch,  "  Abraham 
Lincoln  in  Hungary,"  which  appeared  in  my 
book,  "Against  the  Current,"  published  in 
1910. 

In  doing  this,  new  incidents  were  recalled, 
and  "  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln  "  is  the  result. 

What  gave  me  the  greatest  joy  in  writing 
it,  was  that  it  afforded  me  the  opportunity 
of  bearing  witness  to  the  patriotism  of  our 
foreign-born  citizens,  who  in  this  period  of 
national  stress  have  not  failed  in  loyalty  and 
devotion  to  their  adopted  country. 

It  is  a  matter  of  pride  to  see  their  names 
on  the  Honor  Roll  of  the  nation,  paying  in 
part  at  least,  the  debt  we,  the  alien  born,  owe 
to  our  United  States. 

E.  A.  S. 

Grinnell  College. 

7 


CONTENTS 

I.  IN  WHICH  THE  THREE-QUARTERS  OF  A  MAN 

FORGIVES  AS  HE  WAS  ONCE  FORGIVEN  .        13 

II.  TELLS   How  THE    LINCOLN  ARMY  BEGAN 

THE  CELEBRATION  OK  THE  FOURTH  OF 
JULY  ......  40 

III.  TELLS  How  IT  ENDED  IN  A  MIRACLE         .       51 

IV.  THE  BURIAL  OF  A  HILL,  WHEN  ABRAHAM 

LINCOLN'S  FAMOUS  SPEECH  AGAIN  BECAME 
FAMOUS  ......  66 

V.  IN  WHICH  THE  SPIRIT  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

TRIUMPHS  OVER  THAT  OF  NAPOLEON 
BONAPARTE  .  .  .  .  78 

VI.  A  REAL  TYRANT  is  PUT  TO  FLIGHT  BY  AN 

IMITATION  GHOST  .          .          .89 

VII.  THE  "  KING   OF   THE  SLOVAKS  "  ENTERS 

INTO  His  REST  AND  UNCLE  JOE  RINGS 

THE  CHURCH  BELLS     ....     105 

VIII.  THE  MARVELLOUS,  MAGICAL,  MECHANICAL 

THEATER  PRESENTS  THE  CIVIL  WAR,  AND 
UNCLE  JOE  SUFFERS  DEFEAT  AND  WINS 
A  VICTORY  .  .  .  .  .123 

IX.  UNCLE  JOE  GETS  RELIGION  AND  PAYS  Hu 

DEBT  TO  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN          .         .141 

X.  THE  THREE-QUARTERS  OF  A  MAN  Is  MADE 

WHOLE  AGAIN,  AND  UNCLE  JOE  GOES  ON 

His  LAST  JOURNEY      .         .          .          .141 

XI.  TELLS    How  THERE    HAPPENS   TO    BE  A 

LINCOLN  CLUB  ON  THE  EAST  SIDE  OF 
NEW  YORK  160 


In  which  the  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man 
Forgives  as  He  Was  Once  Forgiven 

WE  were  playing  soldiers  in  our  yard. 
It  was  not  easy  to  march  over  the 
rough  cobblestones  with  which  the 
yard  was  paved,  and  maneuvers  could  not 
be  very  extensive,  for  we  were  shut  in  on 
three  sides  by  huge  brick  walls  which  sepa- 
rated us  from  our  neighbors.  On  the  fourth 
side  was  the  orchard,  which  extended  to  the 
river,  and  was  zealously  guarded  by  a  fierce- 
looking  and  merciless  old  Hungarian,  whose 
name  was  Istvan. 

He  wore  wide,  linen  trousers  which  looked 
like  a  divided  skirt,  a  blue  waistcoat,  and 
over  that  a  sheepskin  coat.  He  usually 
walked  very  softly,  ready  to  catch  any  cul- 
prit who  might  have  gone  into  his  orchard  ; 
but  his  sheepskin  coat  was  old  and  smelled 

'3 


14  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

so  badly  that  it  always  betrayed  his  com- 
ing. 

He  had  a  dog  to  help  him — a  kindly,  old, 
hunting  dog  who  had  served  his  day  chasing 
rabbits  and  was  now  to  chase  less  nimble 
apple  thieves. 

Istvan  carried  a  gun,  which  was  supposed 
to  be  loaded  with  salt,  and  we  were  mightily 
afraid  of  it,  though  no  living  man  or  woman 
had  ever  heard  it  go  off.  That  may  have 
been  due  to  the  fact  that  no  boy  ever  dared 
enter  the  orchard  uninvited,  and  there  were 
but  few  invitations. 

The  self-appointed  General  of  our  army  of 
six  soldiers  was  Yanczy  Pal — and  the  fact 
that  he  is  now,  if  he  is  still  alive,  a  cap- 
tain in  the  Austrian  army,  may  prove  the 
theory  that  commanders  are  not  made,  but 
born. 

He  was  the  only  boy  in  a  real  uniform. 
He  boasted  of  many  ancestors  who  were 
soldiers,  and  he  wore  those  parts  of  their 
wonderful  equipments  which  the  moths  had 
spared.  Inasmuch  as  they  lived  before  wise 
men  had  learned  from  stupid  animals  to  pro- 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      15 

tect  themselves  against  their  enemies  by  what 
naturalists  call  "  protective  coloring  " — that  is 
before  our  soldiers  wore  khaki — he  was  most 
gloriously  attired. 

He  wore  the  czako  (helmet)  of  a  Hussar, 
the  red  coat  of  an  artillery  officer  and  the 
tightly  fitting  trousers  of  the  infantry.  The 
trousers  fitted  as  closely  as  tights  and  were 
sky  blue.  Yanczy  Pal  was  tall  for  his  years  ; 
but  I  often  wonder  how  a  man  ever  wore 
those  trousers.  He  told  us  that  his  uncle, 
who  was  a  great  general,  was  so  thoroughly 
a  soldier  that  he  had  a  nightgown  made  of 
army  cloth,  and  wore  all  his  crosses  and 
medals  to  bed. 

Yanczy  also  carried  a  sword — a  cavalry 
sword,  and  it  was  so  long  that  he  had  to 
wear  it  over  his  shoulder  like  a  gun.  None 
of  the  rest  of  the  army  could  boast  of  heroic 
soldier  ancestors  who  wore  brass  buttons  and 
braid  on  their  nightgowns ;  so  four  of  the 
common  soldiers  (they  were  all  common 
soldiers  except  Yanczy  Pal  and  myself)  wore 
their  civilian  clothes — very  civilian  indeed. 
They  were  one-piece  suits  buttoning  in  the 


1 6  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

back,  and  we  had  used  three  cents'  worth 
of  gilt  paper  to  give  them  a  military  aspect. 
The  three  cents  had  been  contributed  by  me, 
and  because  of  that  I  received  a  commission 
and  became  Quartermaster  General.  As  the 
gilt  glory  did  not  last  longer  than  one  cam- 
paign, I  was  frequently  called  upon  to  finance 
the  army. 

My  own  uniform,  while  not  altogether  mil- 
itary, was,  to  me  at  least,  the  real  thing.  I 
wore  brass  buttons,  each  one  of  them 
stamped  with  an  eagle.  They  were  put 
through  the  cloth  of  my  coat  and  fastened 
by  a  nail.  My  hat  was  ornamented  by  a 
greasy-looking  black  string,  to  which  were 
attached  two  buttons  which  looked  like 
acorns.  Had  you  seen  me  you  might  not 
have  recognized  in  me  a  member  of  the 
Grand  Army  of  the  Republic,  but  that  is 
exactly  what  I  tried  to  resemble.  You  may 
well  wonder  why  a  little  boy  way  off  in  Hun- 
gary, in  the  foot-hills  of  the  Carpathians,  had 
so  strange  a  notion  ;  but  "  that  is  another 
story,"  and,  before  I  finish,  I  hope  you  will 
know  the  reason. 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      17 

Anyway  we  were  drilling,  and  I  think  that 
the  General  purposely  directed  all  our  ma- 
neuvers toward  the  orchard,  in  which  the 
apples  were  temptingly  green  ;  and  while, 
like  real  soldiers,  it  was  not  "  ours  to  reason 
why,  ours  but  to  do  or  die,"  we  hoped  that 
after  the  army  was  licked  into  shape  we 
might  invade  the  orchard. 

As  I  have  said,  the  army  was  being  drilled 
in  our  yard,  and  the  General  made  a  greater 
racket  than  ever,  with  his  " Habt  acht" 
which  means  "  Attention  1 "  That  we  could 
easily  give  him,  but  when  it  came  to  the 
command  of  "  Rechts  um"  and  "  Links  um" 
our  response  was  neither  quick  nor  unani- 
mous, for  a  boy's  right  side  and  left  side 
seem  to  him  very  much  the  same,  and 
the  General  did  that  which  of  course  is 
the  duty  of  every  general  to  do  under  sim- 
ilar circumstances.  He  called  us  a  pack  of 
jackasses,  and  other  more  or  less  compli- 
mentary names.  He  even  swore  at  us,  and, 
as  the  printer  who  sets  this  type  will  not 
know  this  swearword,  and  need  not  use 
dashes  to  show  how  much  he  is  shocked,  I 


1 8  Uncle  Joe  s  Lincoln 

will  write   it  down.     This  is  what  he  said, 
"  Basama  Teremtete  /  " 

He  said  it  more  than  once,  and  when  he 
followed  that  with  something  even  worse,  his 
army  then  and  there  mutinied.  He  then  un- 
buckled his  sword,  which  he  had  to  hold 
with  both  hands,  and  told  us  that  his  uncle 
once  cut  off  the  heads  of  a  whole  regiment 
for  resisting  a  commanding  officer  ;  that  he 
would  now,  as  always,  follow  his  illustrious 
ancestor's  example ;  and  that,  while  he 
might  spare  our  heads,  the  raid  upon  the 
orchard  would  be  indefinitely  postponed,  un- 
less we  apologized  immediately. 

While  the  racket  was  at  its  height,  there 
came  into  the  yard  a  strangely  pathetic 
figure,  a  man  who  hobbled  across  the  cob- 
blestones with  great  effort.  He  wore  a  faded 
suit  of  blue ;  one  trouser  leg  was  superfluous 
for  there  was  no  leg  in  it,  and  one  sleeve 
was  also  empty.  The  brass  buttons  which 
were  once  a  part  of  his  coat  adorned  my 
uniform,  and  the  soft,  slouch  hat  he  wore 
was  minus  its  braid,  for  that  too  he  had 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man       19 

given  me  to  aid  in  my  soldier-like  appear- 
ance. 

He  was  a  rather  untidy  man  with  his  face 
covered  by  a  heavy  beard,  he  had  a  harsh, 
hoarse  voice  and  he  shook  his  fist  at  us  in  a 
threatening  way  because  we  had  disturbed 
his  afternoon  nap.  The  entire  disorganized 
army  was  ready  to  run  ;  but  retreat  was  im- 
possible, as  the  only  way  out  was  blocked  by 
the  man  in  blue  ;  around  us  were  the  three 
walls,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden 
were  Istvan,  the  dog,  and  the  gun  loaded 
with  mythical  salt. 

"  Uncle  Joe,"  who  was  not  anybody's 
uncle,  chose  that  name  for  himself  when, 
after  many  years  in  the  United  States,  he 
returned  to  Hungary  to  die  in  his  native 
country,  after  fate  had  denied  him  that  priv- 
ilege while  he  fought  for  the  Union.  He  had 
a  generous  pension,  most  of  which  he  spent 
for  drink.  When  he  returned  to  his  home 
town,  from  which  no  one  had  missed  him, 
though  he  had  been  away  more  than  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  I  was  the  only  one  to 
greet  him. 


2O  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Even  that  was  an  accident,  for  I  played 
truant  and  did  not  go  to  the  service  that  par- 
ticular Sabbath.  I  was  on  the  market-place 
waiting  for  the  omnibus,  to  see  who  would 
unload  himself  from  its  mysterious  depths. 
It  was  very  exciting  to  see  who  was  coming 
to  us  from  the  far  unknown,  as  it  was  our 
only  means  of  communication  with  the  out- 
side world ;  for  not  only  did  we  have  no 
railroad,  we  hadn't  even  a  newspaper,  which 
would  tell  us  once  or  twice  a  week  who  had 
come  or  who  was  going  away. 

When  I  asked  the  omnibus  driver  how 
many  passengers  he  had  brought,  he  laughed 
and  said :  "  Three-quarters  of  a  man "  ; 
which  puzzled  me  greatly  until  I  saw  the 
old  soldier  alight.  Knowing  that  my  dear 
mother  never  turned  a  stranger  from  her 
door,  I  took  him  home,  and  so  it  happened 
that  this  veteran  of  the  Civil  War,  who  had 
left  an  arm  and  a  leg  on  some  battle-field  in 
the  United  States,  was  living  in  a  back  room 
in  our  house.  That  is  how  I  came  to  wear 
Uncle  Sam's  brass  buttons,  and  to  want  to 
look  like  a  member  of  the  G.  A.  R. 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man       2 1 

However,  Uncle  Joe  brought  me  much 
more  than  brass  buttons ;  he  enlarged  my 
world  by  adding  to  it  a  new  continent,  and 
he  taught  me  a  wonderful  chapter  of  history. 
Many  and  many  a  long  winter's  evening  I  sat 
in  his  room,  while  by  the  light  of  a  tallow 
candle  he  read  to  me  about  the  Civil  War, 
using  sulphur  matches  to  show  me  the  posi- 
tion of  the  different  armies.  The  matches 
with  heads  on  them  were  Union  soldiers, 
and  those  without  heads  were  soldiers  of  the 
Confederacy.  This  method  of  teaching  his- 
tory consumed  so  many  of  my  mother's 
matches  that  once  she  asked  me  whether 
Uncle  Joe  ate  them. 

I  also  learned  the  names  of  the  great  gen- 
erals and,  while  some  of  them  were  difficult 
for  me  to  pronounce,  I  remember  them  all ; 
and  even  now  when  I  mention  them,  I  can 
hear  Uncle  Joe  telling  me  that  in  English 
you  write  a  name  one  way  and  pronounce  it 
quite  differently,  which  seemed  to  me  rather 
foolish,  and  on  that  point  I  have  not  changed 
my  opinion. 

There  was  one  name  which  gave  me  no 


22  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

trouble,  for  it  was  pronounced  as  it  was 
spelled,  and  when  Uncle  Joe  spoke  of  that 
man  it  was  with  deepest  reverence.  He  had 
his  picture  in  his  room.  It  hung  over  his 
bed,  and  around  it  were  draped  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  which  even  then  I  thought  the 
most  beautiful  flag  in  existence. 

To  me  the  pictured  face  seemed  infinitely 
more  noble  than  those  of  the  proud  kings 
who  ruled  over  us.  It  was  a  sad  face ;  at 
least  one  side  of  it  seemed  sad,  while  the 
other  side  wore  a  smile,  as  if  he  meant  to 
say  "  Life  is  never  all  sadness,  but  neither  is 
it  all  a  joke." 

Under  his  bushy  black  hair,  upon  his 
broad  forehead,  were  many  wrinkles,  and 
they  looked  as  if  they  had  been  worn  into  it 
by  a  great  sorrow.  His  eyes,  set  deep  in  his 
thin,  muscular  face,  looked  honest  and  keen, 
and  I  was  sure  that  one  could  not  easily  tell 
a  lie  to  such  a  man,  for  he  could  look  right 
into  one's  heart.  His  nose  was  large  and  so 
was  his  mouth,  and  I  knew  that  he  must  be 
generous. 

On  the  whole  it  was  not  a  handsome  face, 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      23 

not  half  so  handsome  as  that  of  our  king. 
Evidently  God  took  plenty  of  time  to  make 
a  king.  He  did  not  need  him  especially. 
But  in  a  country's  great  crisis,  the  Master 
Workman  had  taken  the  common  clay  and 
shaped  it  quickly  and  breathed  into  it  as 
much  of  His  spirit  as  it  would  hold,  and 
named  it — Abraham  Lincoln.  At  any  rate, 
Uncle  Joe  thought  he  was  the  most  wonderful 
man  who  ever  lived,  and  the  more  I  learned 
about  him,  the  more  I  shared  that  opinion. 

When  Uncle  Joe  appeared  on  the  scene 
that  day  in  the  garden,  and  the  General  who 
had  threatened  his  mutinous  army  was  ready 
to  run,  and  his  soldiers  with  him,  I,  knowing 
that  his  bark  was  worse  than  his  bite,  said : 
"  Oh,  Uncle  Joe,  tell  us,  do  you  think  that  if 
Abraham  Lincoln  had  called  us  jackasses  and 
said  '  Basama  Teremtete '  and  we  objected  to 
being  '  basamad?  that  he  would  have  had  our 
heads  cut  off?" 

I  knew  that  when  you  appealed  to  Uncle 
Joe  in  the  name  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  it 
was  indeed  like  pouring  oil  upon  troubled 


24  \TJncle  "Joes  Lincoln 

waters,  and  I  was  not  mistaken.  Forgetting 
that  we  had  disturbed  his  afternoon  nap,  he 
soon  had  us  lined  up,  General,  Quarter- 
master General,  and  all,  and  we  were  drilling 
to  new  words  of  command. 

It  was  no  more  "  Habt  acht"  and  " Rechts 
um,"  "  Links  urn  "  ;  it  was  "  Attention  ! " 
"  Right  'bout  face  I  "  "  Left  'bout  face  1 "  At 
least  that  is  the  way  it  sounded,  and  when 
we  did  not  know  which  was  right  or  left,  he 
tied  a  handkerchief  on  the  side  with  which 
we  were  not  to  be  on  speaking  terms,  and  he 
called  it  the  "  Blow  your  nose  side." 

When  we  had  finally  mastered  the  in- 
tricacies of  right  and  left,  he  made  us  march 
around  the  yard  to  the  tune  of  Yankee 
Doodle.  He  first  whistled  it,  and  no  doubt 
it  brought  memories  of  his  campaigns,  for 
then  he  began  to  hum  it;  and  before  he 
knew  it,  he  was  singing  it,  and  we  heard 
those  strange  words  at  whose  meaning  we 
could  but  vainly  guess.  When  we  asked  for 
a  translation,  he  permitted  us  to  be  at  rest, 
and,  leaning  against  the  wall,  began  : 

"  Yankees  are  the  people  who  live  in  the 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      2  5 

northern  part  of  the  United  States,  and  the 
people  of  these  states  didn't  want  the  people 
of  the  Southern  States  to  keep  the  slaves. 
Boys,  do  you  think  it  is  right  to  keep 
slaves  ?  "  We  replied  in  unison,  "  No,  sir  1 " 
"That's  right,"  he  said,  "that's  what  the 
Yankees  thought;  but  the  people  of  the 
Southern  States  said :  '  If  you  won't  let  us 
keep  our  slaves  we  will  fight  you,'  and  those 
Basama  Teremtete  rebels  began  to  shoot  at 
the  Yankees. 

"  I  was  then  living  in  St.  Louis,  by  the 
big  Mississippi  River,  the  biggest  river  in 
the  whole  world."  You  see  Uncle  Joe  was 
something  of  an  American,  not  only  in  his 
love  for  the  right  and  his  willingness  to  fight 
for  it,  but  also  in  his  way  of  thinking  that 
everything  in  the  United  States  is  the 
biggest.  "And  so,"  he  continued,  "I  en- 
listed and  became  a  Yankee." 

"But  what  does  'doodle'  mean?"  I  was 
emboldened  to  ask,  for  Uncle  Joe  was  begin- 
ning to  tell  all  about  the  war,  which  I  had 
heard  ever  so  many  times. 

11  Oh,  '  doodle,'  well,  hm !  well— that  is  just 


2,6  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

doodle.  It  means  doodle.  You  see  when 
we  marched,  we  had  some  one  play  the  fife, 
and  that  was  the  doodle,  and  when  we  saw 
the  rebels — well,  we  just  doodled  and 
doodled,  and  at  Vicksburg,  you  see,  we 
went  to  town;  we  just  took  the  town,  and 
that  is  'Yankee  Doodle  went  to  town.'  Town 
means  city,"  and  wishing  to  escape  further 
examination  about  Yankee  Doodle,  he  was 
about  to  call  his  army  into  action,  when  I 
asked  him  another  question. 

"  What  is  macaroni,  Uncle  Joe  ?  " 
"  Oh,  you  muddle-headed  ignoramus  you, 
don't  you  know  what  macaroni  is?  It's — 
well,  it  is  something  good  to  eat.  It's  what 
we  got  to  eat  when  we  took  the  town,"  and 
we  were  summarily  brought  to  order,  and 
once  more  marched  toward  the  orchard  to 
the  tune  of  Yankee  Doodle. 

He  hobbled  along  ahead  of  us,  and,  when 
we  came  to  the  closed  gate,  he  evidently 
thought  he  was  with  Sherman  on  his  march 
to  the  sea,  for  he  began  to  sing  another  song 
to  a  livelier  and  better  tune,  which  ended 
like  this  :  "  While  we  go  marching  through 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      27 

Georgia."  To  a  victorious  army  there  are 
no  obstacles,  not  even  closed  garden  gates. 
He  lifted  the  latch,  and  triumphantly  the 
army  entered  the  protected  domain  of  old 
Istvan. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  neither  Istvan  nor 
his  dog  was  visible,  and  hardly  had  we  come 
under  the  shade  of  the  apple  trees  when  the 
army,  without  so  much  as  "  by  your  leave," 
broke  ranks  and  began  filling  its  pockets 
with  green  apples — that  is,  those  of  us  who 
had  pockets  big  enough.  Our  General, 
Yanczy  Pal,  had  such  tight  trousers  that  no 
apple,  no  matter  how  small,  could  be  put 
into  the  pockets,  and  those  on  his  coat  were 
sewed  up  with  gold  braid.  My  pockets  were 
ample.  I  stuffed  them  as  full  as  I  could  and 
I  committed  a  great  camouflage.  I  put  my 
pocket  handkerchief  on  top  of  them  leav- 
ing one  end  hanging  out  as  convincing 
evidence. 

Ahead  of  us  Uncle  Joe  still  hobbled,  to  the 
tune  of  "  Marching  Through  Georgia,"  quite 
unconscious  of  our  defection.  When  he 
came  to  the  end  of  the  garden  where  the 


28  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

gate  opened  toward  the  river,  he  stopped, 
turned  right  about  face  as  quickly  as  he 
could  on  one  leg,  and  then  he  discovered  that 
he  was  without  his  army. 

We  were  still  under  the  apple  tree,  for  we 
were  not  satisfied  with  windfalls ;  we  had 
shaken  it,  gently  of  course,  and  were  busy 
putting  away  the  surplus  in  our  shirts  or 
in  any  place  where  apples  fitted,  and  it  is 
marvellous  how  easily  apples  fit  into  a  boy's 
clothes. 

Uncle  Joe  came  hobbling  back.  The 
General  was  nearest  him  in  a  very  inviting 
posture,  and  he  applied  his  crutch  where  the 
trousers  fitted  the  tightest.  The  other  boys 
ran  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them, 
and  I,  of  course,  with  them.  I  couldn't  run 
so  fast  as  they,  for  my  pockets  being  very 
ample  and  my  shirt  quite  large,  I  was  loaded 
down  with  apples.  Running  even  as  mod- 
erately as  I  did,  I  shed  apples  in  all  direc- 
tions, much  to  my  dismay. 

That  evening  I  did  not  as  usual  go 
voluntarily  into  Uncle  Joe's  room.  My 
mother  sent  me  in.  I  was  in  a  very  re- 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      29 

pentant  mood,  for  green  apples  taste  best 
before  you  have  eaten  them,  and  both  my 
conscience  and  my  stomach  troubled  me. 
As  soon  as  I  entered  the  room,  he  took  me 
by  the  ear,  and  he  was  never  gentle  with 
little  boys'  ears.  He  dragged  me  up  to  his 
bed,  right  in  front  of  Abraham  Lincoln's 
portrait:  "Down  on  your  knees,  you  little 
deserter ! " 

I  fell  on  my  knees  as  if  I  had  been  struck 
down.  "  Now  ask  that  great  man's  pardon," 
cried  Uncle  Joe.  "  You  were  marching  be- 
hind a  Union  soldier,  and  you  basely  de- 
serted and  stole !  Yes,  sir,  you  stole  apples  ! 
You're  not  fit  to  ask  his  pardon,  do  you 
hear?"  he  shrieked,  half  crying,  "  You're  not 
fit,  sir  !  You  are  not  fit  1 " 

Then  I  began  to  cry,  moved  as  much  by 
the  anguish  in  his  voice  as  by  my  inner 
pangs.  He,  too,  began  to  cry,  not  as  a  little 
boy  cries,  but  in  big  sobs,  as  if  something  in 
him  were  breaking. 

"  You're  not  fit,"  he  sobbed  again,  "  not 
fit,  just  as  I  was  not  fit  to  ask  his  pardon." 
Then  the  tears  came  thick  and  fast  as  if  that 


30  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

which  had  broken  in  him  were  pouring  its 
contents  through  his  eyes.  When  we  both 
were  through  crying  we  felt  better.  I  never 
before  knew  that  crying  helped  a  boy's 
stomach-ache  as  well  as  his  conscience. 
Then  he  took  me  on  his  lap  and  told  me 
how  it  happened  that  he  always  fell  down  on 
his  knees  before  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  asked 
and  received  his  pardon.  I  don't  remember 
the  names  of  places  he  mentioned ;  they 
sounded  strange,  and  I  could  not  pronounce 
them.  I  shall,  however,  try  to  tell  the  story 
just  as  he  told  it ;  for  though  it  was  a  simple 
story  it  had  a  tremendous  effect  upon  my 
whole  life. 

Uncle  Joe  looked  for  his  handkerchief,  and 
when  he  found  it  he  wiped  the  tears  from  his 
cheeks,  then  blew  his  nose  several  blasts, 
and  when  he  finally  began  to  speak  it  was  in 
big  gulps,  as  if  he  had  to  swallow  something 
before  he  spoke. 

"  You  little  rapscallion  you,  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  something  I  have  never  told  to  any- 
body, and  if  you  tell  it  to  anybody  while  I 
am  living  I'll  scalp  you  ! "  and  he  took  my 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man       3 1 

shock  of  hair  and  pulled  it  till  it  hurt,  and 
I  solemnly  promised  I  wouldn't  tell  the  great 
secret  he  was  about  to  entrust  to  me. 

"When  the  war  broke  out,"  he  began 
after  my  solemn  pledge  of  secrecy,  "  I  was 
living  in  St.  Louis.  Before  that  I  had  been 
sort  of  a  drifter.  I  didn't  amount  to  much 
here,  and  I  didn't  amount  to  much  in 
America.  '  You  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new 
tricks.'  I  was  a  good-for-nothing  boy,  I 
never  became  a  much  better  man.  Chang- 
ing the  climate  may  improve  a  man's  health, 
but  it  doesn't  always  necessarily  improve  his 
character.  Over  there  a  man  can  do  all  sorts 
of  things  and  fail  ever  so  many  times ;  but 
there  is  always  a  chance  for  him  if  he  tries 
again.  So  I  kept  on,  trying  first  one  thing 
and  then  another. 

"  I  worked  on  a  farm,  I  taught  school,  I 
became  an  agent  and  sold  many  things  to 
people  who  did  not  want  them  or  did  not 
need  them.  Then  I  worked  on  a  boat  and 
finally  I  landed  in  St.  Louis.  I  came  there 
without  a  cent  of  money,  and  I  walked  up 
from  the  levee  into  the  town  and  began  look- 


32  Uncle  'Joe  s  Lincoln 

ing  for  a  job.  I  went  into  a  German  news- 
paper office  and  asked  them  to  give  me  a 
copy  of  the  paper  for  I  didn't  have  money 
enough  to  pay  for  it,  and  they  offered  me  a 
job  as  a  helper  in  the  printing  office.  It  was 
hard  work  but  I  liked  it.  I  was  a  great 
reader,  and  papers  from  all  over  the  country 
came  to  our  office ;  so  I  read  during  my 
spare  time,  getting  something  of  an  educa- 
tion that  way.  I  finally  became  a  printer 
and  made  good  wages,  but  I  squandered  all 
the  money  I  earned  on  drink." 

Then  he  stopped  and  gulped  again  as  if 
he  were  swallowing  what  he  had  to  say,  and 
when  he  finally  spoke,  his  voice  was  harsh, 
as  if  he  were  angry  with  somebody.  He 
pushed  his  hand  roughly  through  my  curly 
hair. 

"  Don't  you  ever  drink,  boy  !  I'd  rather 
kill  you  now  than  to  think  that  you  would 
have  to  suffer  what  I  suffered  !  I  gambled," 
and  he  pulled  my  hair,  "  and  finally  I  stole 
money,"  and  again  he  gave  my  hair  a 
vicious  pull.  I  was  hoping  that  he  would 
not  confess  all  his  sins  to  me,  for  if  he  did 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      33 

and  pulled  my  hair  every  time,  I  wouldn't 
have  a  hair  left.  I  knew  his  failings,  and 
they  were  many. 

"  When  the  war  finally  came,  the  foreign- 
ers in  St.  Louis  went  with  the  Union  and  I 
went  with  them.  I  was  a  pretty  tough 
fellow,  and  didn't  think  very  much  about  the 
government,  but  I  hated  slavery.  I  didn't 
want  anybody  oppressed.  I  was  always  for 
the  under  dog,  perhaps  because  I  always  was 
one  myself.  I  loved  Abraham  Lincoln,  our 
President.  I  loved  him  because  he  was  once 
a  poor  man  like  myself,  and  had  no  educa- 
tion except  what  he  got  himself ;  so  when  I 
had  a  chance  I  enlisted,  but  I  found  soldier- 
ing pretty  tough.  I  didn't  like  to  do  what 
somebody  else  told  me,  and  anyway  I  know 
now  that  I  was  a  coward.  Don't  you  ever 
be  a  coward  1 "  and  again  my  hair  was  pulled. 

"  I — deserted  I "  He  dropped  me  to  the 
floor,  and,  as  there  was  no  soft  carpet,  I  felt 
the  hard  boards  very  decidedly,  and  began  to 
cry.  "  Sh  I " — he  said.  "  You  little  deserter ! 
Stop  your  bellowing !  Don't  let  any  one 
ever  hear  what  I  told  you  1  If  you  ever  tell 


34  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

I'll  scalp  you  1 "  and  I  felt  another  tug  at  my 
badly  dishevelled  hair. 

"  I  deserted !  Don't  you  ever "  Before 

he  had  a  chance  to  grasp  my  hair  again  and 
admonish  me  never  to  desert,  I  was  at  the 
door,  ready  to  run ;  but  the  old  man  coaxed 
me  back  with  a  piece  of  rock  candy,  which 
he  used  rather  freely  in  his  struggle  with  a 
chronic  case  of  bronchitis,  and  which  was  my 
reward  for  listening  to  his  stones  about  the 
war.  I  did  not  make  the  mistake  of  letting 
him  take  me  on  his  lap.  I  listened  from  a 
safe  distance  as  he  began  to  tell  me  more 
about  his  shortcomings. 

"  Yes,  I  deserted,  and  lived  for  a  long 
time  like  a  wild  animal,  sleeping  out  in  the 
woods  and  living  on  whatever  I  could  steal 
or  beg.  Don't  you  ever  beg  1 "  Fortunately 
I  was  beyond  the  reach  of  his  hand,  but  he 
had  to  punish  somebody  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  misdeeds ;  so  he  pulled  his  beard  every 
time  he  made  a  confession.  It  was  pitiful 
to  see  it,  but  it  was  less  painful  to  me. 

"  Finally  I  was  caught  and  put  into  prison," 
he  went  on,  "  and  that  was  a  mighty  good 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      35 

thing  for  me.  The  very  best  thing  for  any- 
body, when  he  has  done  any  wrong,  is  to  be 
caught  and  properly  punished.  But  it  is  one 
thing  to  be  locked  up  and  another  thing  to  be 
told  that,  because  you  are  a  deserter,  you  will 
be  shot.  Oh,  boy  1 "  and  then  he  pulled  his 
beard  so  hard  I  was  more  than  thankful  that 
it  wasn't  my  hair. 

11  My  life,  which  I  didn't  value  enough  to 
keep  myself  decent,  all  at  once  seemed  kind 
of  a  sacred  thing.  That  which  I  had  pro- 
faned, and  stepped  on,  as  if  it  were  a  nasty 
bug,  became  something  like  a  small  piece 
of  God.  I  was  a  gambler  and  a  drunkard,  a 
thief  and  a  deserter,  but  I  wanted  to  live." 

I  thought  his  heart  would  break,  for  his 
breath  seemed  to  have  stopped,  he  grew  pur- 
ple in  the  face,  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to 
hear  him  speak  again. 

"I  wanted  to  live  and  there  was  just  one 
man  who  could  give  me  my  life  back  again, 
and  that  man  was  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  had 
cut  his  picture  out  of  a  newspaper,  and 
fastened  it  onto  the  wall  with  some  paste  I 
made  out  of  chewed-up  bread,  and  I  used  to 


36  Uncle  yoe's  Lincoln 

kneel  before  that  picture  and  pray  as  if  I  were 
praying  to  my  God.  You  say  your  prayers, 
you  little  deserter  ?  "  He  turned  to  me  again, 
angrily.  I  nodded  my  head.  "  Yes,  you  say 
prayers  as  if  you  were  grinding  coffee  for 
your  mother,  and  with  as  much  feeling  !  Oh, 
boy,  I  prayed  as  if  I  were  tearing  out  my 
heart  by  the  roots.  I  was  praying  for  my 
life.  I  wanted  another  chance  to  live,  and 
then  when  it  came  my  time  to  die  I  wanted 
to  die  like  a  man,  not  like  a  dog. 

"  It  was  two  days  before  I  was  to  be  shot, 
and  I  had  given  up  all  hope.  I  was  lying  on 
my  cot  and  wanted  to  forget  that  I  was  alive, 
when  the  door  opened  and  my  jailer  came  in, 
and  after  him  a  tall,  lean,  lank  man.  He  was 
so  tall  he  had  to  bend  nearly  double  to  get 
through  the  door,  and  when  he  straightened 
himself  out,  I  saw  it  was  President  Lincoln  ! 
If  God  Almighty  had  come  down  into  that 
stinking  jail,  I  wouldn't  have  been  as  scared 
as  I  was.  Then  he  talked  to  me  like  any 
mother  would  have  talked  to  me  if  she  had 
found  me  a  condemned  deserter. 

"  I  thought  I  would  rather  die  than  have 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      37 

him  talk  to  me  that  way.  If  he  had  said, 
'You  good-for-nothing  rascal,  it  serves  you 
right ;  that's  what  you  get  for  deserting  ! '  or 
if  he  had  taken  a  stick  and  hit  me  with  it,  I 
could  have  stood  it ;  but  he  looked  into  my 
eyes  and  he  seemed  to  see  my  whole  rotten 
insides,  and  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  hide  myself 
from  that  look.  His  voice  was  tender  as  a 
woman's,  and  I  cried  like  a  baby. 

"Then  the  President  saw  the  picture  on 
the  wall,  and  the  jailer  told  him  something, 
and  I  fell  down  on  my  knees  and  I  held  on  to 
his  bony  legs  till  the  jailer  pulled  me  away. 
I  acted  like  a  raving  maniac  after  he  left  me, 
and  they  had  to  tie  me  up.  They  were 
afraid  I  would  brain  myself  against  the  hard 
stone  wall  of  my  cell. 

"That  night  I  didn't  sleep  at  all.  The 
next  day  an  officer  came  to  see  me  and  I 
thought  he  came  to  take  me  out  to  be  shot. 
He  had  a  big  envelope  in  his  hand  and  it 
looked  like  the  death  warrant.  When  he 
began  to  read  I  stopped  my  ears.  I  didn't 
care  then  whether  I  was  to  be  shot  or  not, 
but  I  didn't  want  to  hear  about  it.  In  spite 


38  Uncle  yoes  Lincoln 

of  my  having  stopped  my  ears  I  could  hear 
something ;  I  caught  one  word,  then  after  I 
took  my  fingers  out  of  my  ears,  I  heard  that 
I  was  pardoned.  Oh,  boy,  boy,  do  you  know 
what  that  means  ?  I  was  pardoned  I "  He 
reached  toward  me  with  his  big  stick  uplifted, 
and,  fearing  that  I  had  not  shown  the  right 
kind  of  appreciation  (but  how  could  I,  never 
having  been  condemned  to  death?),  I  ran 
from  him,  but  he  beckoned  me,  with  a  smile. 
Instead  of  hitting  me  with  his  stick,  he  em- 
braced me  and  kissed  me  over  and  over 
again,  and,  considering  that  he  had  a  fright- 
fully bushy  beard  and  didn't  keep  himself 
especially  clean,  I  felt  that  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred his  cane  to  his  kisses. 

"  Oh,  boy,"  and  this  time  he  availed  him- 
self of  the  chance  to  pull  my  hair  again,  "  I 
went  back  to  the  army  after  a  while,  after  a 
long  while,  for  I  had  to  stay  in  prison,  and 
then  I  fought.  Oh,  boy,  I  fought !  I  didn't 
fight  for  the  niggers  or  for  the  United  States. 
I  fought  for  President  Lincoln,  and  I  fought 
like  "a 'lion.  This*  is  how  I  fought!"  He 
shook  the  limp  trouser  leg,  "and  this,"  and 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man      39 

he  shook  his  empty  sleeve.  Then  he  looked 
up  to  the  flag-draped  picture.  "You  see, 
Abraham  Lincoln,  what  you  made  out  of  a 
rascally  deserter,  you  see,  you  see  ?  "  and  he 
shook  his  limp  trouser  leg  and  his  empty 
sleeve  right  into  the  face  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln. 

Before  he  let  me  go,  he  impressed  me 
again  and  again  with  the  enormity  of  my 
crime.  I  had  deserted  the  army  commanded 
by  one  of  the  soldiers  of  President  Lincoln, 
I  had  stolen  apples  while  I  was  a  deserter, 
and  I  ought  to  be  punished.  While  I  de- 
served to  be  shot,  he  would  be  merciful ;  but 
I  had  to  be  punished  and  I  was,  both  inter- 
nally and  externally.  I  had  a  sleepless  night. 
The  green  apples  looked  after  that,  and  the 
next  day  when  the  army  drilled  again  in  our 
cobblestone  paved  yard,  I  wore  my  usual 
uniform,  but  the  brass  buttons  were  missing, 
and  my  hat  was  minus  the  greasy  braid  with 
its  buttons  which  looked  like  acorns. 


II 

Tells  How  the  Lincoln  Army  Began  the 
Celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July 

UNCLE  JOE'S  advent  awakened 
within  us  the  martial  spirit,  asleep  in 
our  town  since  1866,  the  year  when 
the  Prussians  invaded  it  in  their  war  with 
Austria,  writing  the  history  of  the  new  Ger- 
many with  the  points  of  bayonets  dipped  in 
the  blood  of  our  fathers.  The  old  soldier's 
stories  of  the  victorious  Union  Army,  his 
share  in  which  was  not  minimized,  stimu- 
lated our  imaginations,  and  we  resolved  that 
ours  was  to  be  a  Lincoln  Army,  and  its  task 
was  to  bring  liberty  to  our  little  world, 
where  it  was  so  badly  needed. 

Our  immediate  duty  was  the  celebration 
of  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  included  a  parade, 
a  picnic  and  fireworks.  It  was  to  be  a  real 
holiday,  and  we  were  neither  to  fast  before 
we  feasted,  nor  pray  before  we  played,  which 

was  the  customary  way  of  observing  holi- 

40 


The  Fourth  of  July  4 1 

days ;  therefore  we  awaited  its  coming  with 
unmixed  joy. 

We  were  used  to  parades  in  the  form  of 
religious  processions;  but  picnics  were  as 
new  to  us  as  apples  were  to  Adam  before  the 
Fall,  and  the  nearest  we  had  come  to  fire- 
works was  some  red  light  which  Yanczy  Pal 
had  obtained  somewhere,  and  which  we 
lighted  on  his  parents'  historic  mahogany 
table.  What  happened  to  us  in  conse- 
quence it  is  not  necessary  to  chronicle. 

According  to  Uncle  Joe,  the  elements  out 
of  which  a  picnic  should  be  constructed 
were  sandwiches,  lemonade  and  ice-cream. 
This  menu  disturbed  our  imaginations  more 
than  it  might  have  disturbed  our  digestions. 
The  word  Sandwich  we  found  in  our  geog- 
raphy ;  but  it  seemed  alien  to  our  bill  of  fare, 
and  we  decided  that  it  was  composed  of  hu- 
man flesh  or  something  equally  unpalatable. 

Yanczy  Pal,  the  wisest  among  us,  told  us 
that  he  had  tasted  lemonade  when  he  had 
fever,  and  that  he  knew  the  elements  from 
which  it  was  made ;  but  before  the  mystery 
of  ice-cream  even  his  brain  reeled.  It  did 


42  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

not  help  us  to  understand  when  Uncle  Joe 
explained  that  "  When  the  ice  on  the  outside 
of  the  cream  melted,  the  cream  on  the  inside 
of  the  ice  became  ice,  and  so,  the  ice-cream." 
It  remained  one  of  the  unbelievable  American 
mysteries,  and  we  accepted  it  as  we  accepted 
Uncle  Joe's  account  of  the  battle  of  Gettys- 
burg, or  his  description  of  Niagara  Falls. 

Unfortunately  the  realization  of  most  of 
our  hopes  was  to  wait  until  we  came  to  the 
United  States ;  for  while  the  old  soldier  was 
a  brave  man,  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
America  an  unconquered  foe,  who  came 
upon  him  and  vanquished  him  at  regular 
periods — when  his  pension  came  from  Uncle 
Sam.  Then  he  would  appear  at  the  Black 
Eagle  Inn,  where  among  the  well  to  do  he 
would  drink  sweet  Hungarian  wine,  and 
throw  his  money  to  the  Hungarian  Gypsies. 
When  his  money  grew  less,  he  went  to 
Abraham  Fuchs'  dram-shop,  where  with 
common  peasants  and  roaming  Gypsies,  he 
drank  plain,  white,  biting  vodka,  till  his 
last  cent  was  gone.  Then  in  a  repentant 
mood  he  would  beg  my  mother's  pardon, 


Fourth  of  "July  43 

promising  never  to  drink  another  drop,  and 
keep  his  word  until  the  next  time  the  postman 
brought  the  well-known  official  envelope. 

I  remember  how  excited  we  were  the  day 
the  fireworks  came,  and  how  my  mother 
would  not  give  the  box  house  room  for  fear 
of  an  explosion.  Finally,  under  cover  of  the 
night,  Uncle  Joe  and  I  deposited  it  in  the 
granary,  we  alone  knowing  its  hiding-place. 

We  drilled  every  day.  We  marched  and 
countermarched.  We  took  the  town  by 
storm  and  retook  it  again  and  again.  We 
sang  Yankee  Doodle  and  waved  tiny  flags 
of  stars  and  stripes  which  Uncle  Joe  had 
made  for  us  by  the  aid  of  colored  paper, 
scissors  and  paste.  It  was  to  be  no  mere 
imitation  of  the  American  Fourth  of  July ! 
We  determined  to  make  it  a  real  Inde- 
pendence Day  of  our  own,  and  while  we 
could  not  overthrow  the  government,  we  re- 
solved to  shout  the  "  Battle  Cry  of  Freedom  " 
when  the  fireworks  bombarded  the  air. 

Alas,  for  our  hopes  I  The  first  of  July 
marked  a  new  quarter,  and  on  that  day 
Pan  Fiala,  the  postman  (who,  by  the  way, 


44  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

could  not  read,  and  was  dependent  on  any 
one  he  met  to  decipher  the  addresses), 
brought  the  money  from  the  United  States ; 
and  Uncle  Joe  forgot  that  some  twenty  boys 
were  wishing  time  to  speed  till  the  glorious, 
yet  unknown,  much  anticipated  Fourth  of 
July  should  release  the  pent-up  enthusiasm 
of  a  great  Liberty  Army,  and  reveal  the 
mystery  of  sandwiches,  the  miracle  of  ice- 
cream and  the  glory  of  fireworks. 

No  doubt  he  meant  to  keep  sober.  I  know 
he  did ;  for  he  gave  all  the  money  he  re- 
ceived to  my  mother,  and  he  kept  his  reso- 
lution for  five  hours.  He  paced  up  and 
down  his  room  from  about  eleven  till  four 
in  the  afternoon.  He  acted  like  a  caged 
animal,  and  then,  ashamed  to  ask  for  the 
money,  he  did  that  which  was  ever  the  ref- 
uge of  tempted  men  ;  he  told  a  lie. 

He  said  he  wanted  some  money  to  pre- 
pare for  the  picnic,  and  that  evening  he  was 
at  the  Black  Eagle  Inn  letting  the  picnic 
slide  down  his  throat,  and  throwing  Uncle 
Sam's  dollars  at  the  fiddling  Gypsies. 

On  the  third  of  July,  following  the  usual 


The  Fourth  of  July  45 

program,  he  was  drinking  vodka  at  Abra- 
ham Fuchs',  and  when  the  Fourth  of  July 
dawned  we  found  Uncle  Joe  so  drunk  that 
he  didn't  know  the  difference  between  the 
anticipated  day  and  Christmas.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  determination  of  Yanczy  Pal 
who,  as  I  have  said,  was  destined  to  be  a 
leader  of  men,  the  day  would  have  remained 
just  a  hot  day  in  the  seventh  month  instead 
of  the  more  or  less  glorious  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  Fourth. 

So  it  happened  that  General  Yanczy  Pal 
was  reviewing  the  Lincoln  Army. 

Old  horse  pistols,  dull  bayonets  and  rusty 
swords  displaced  our  wooden  weapons,  and  a 
motley  assortment  of  parts  of  uniforms  took 
the  place  of  the  three  cents'  worth  of  gilt  pa- 
per, which  had  to  be  so  frequently  renewed  ; 
while  three  times  six  soldiers  passed  in  review 
before  Yanczy  Pal,  our  doughty  General. 

"  Infantry  forward  ! "  he  shouted  ;  and  ten 
stalwart  boys  advanced,  led  by  their  captain, 
Pavel  Chorvat.  His  father,  the  blacksmith, 
was  far  famed  for  his  strength  and  size.  He 
could  lift  the  heaviest  sack  of  grain,  throw  the 


46  Uncle  yds  Lincoln 

most  vicious  horse,  and  boasted  that  his  chest 
was  once  used  for  an  anvil  without  any  dam- 
age to  his  lungs.  He  could  also  drink  more 
whisky  than  any  man  within  many  miles,  and 
swear  the  fiercest  oaths.  His  son  promised 
to  be  a  "  chip  of  the  old  block,"  or  a  spark 
from  the  same  anvil. 

The  infantry  which  Captain  Pavel  Chorvat 
commanded,  was  racially,  religiously  and  so- 
cially representative  of  our  much  mixed,  or 
rather,  badly  divided  community :  Protes- 
tants, Catholics,  Jews,  Magyars,  Slovaks  and 
two  Gypsies. 

The  review  of  the  infantry  proving  satis- 
factory, the  General  shouted  again,  "  Cavalry 
forward  ! "  and  Armin  Griinwald,  son  of  the 
Jewish  horse-dealer,  led  that  branch  of  our 
army  in  review.  They  were  all  his  father's 
stable-boys,  and  the  only  equipment  they  had 
which  fitted  them  for  the  cavalry  was  a  strong 
stable  odor.  The  captain  was  a  tall,  raw- 
boned  lad,  and  because  his  face  was  as 
speckled  as  one  of  his  father's  horses,  we 
called  him  "Speckled  Horse."  His  special 
fame  among  us  rested  upon  the  fact  that  he 


The  Fourth  of  July  47 

never  ate  rye  bread.  He  said  it  made  him 
sick  at  his  stomach. 

"  Artillery  forward  ! "  the  General  again 
commanded,  and  Stephen  Potoczck,  the  sole 
representative  of  that  branch  of  the  army, 
passed  in  review.  He  was  assigned  to  the 
artillery,  or  the  artillery  was  assigned  to  him, 
because  he  was  the  largest  boy  among  us, 
fat  rather  than  tall,  and  had  the  reputation  of 
being  able  to  consume  more  dumplings  than 
any  boy  in  the  village.  They  were  so  large 
and  hard  that  they  resembled  cannonballs, 
and  as  "  Cannonball "  he  was  enscribed  in  the 
archives  of  the  Lincoln  Army. 

"  Commissary  Department  forward  1 "  And 
I  passed  before  the  scrutinizing  gaze  of  the 
General.  I  carried  a  jar  of  dill  pickles,  a  loaf 
of  freshly  baked  bread  and  a  big  lump  of 
sugar,  all  borrowed  from  my  mother's  pantry. 

The  review  was  eminently  satisfactory  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  the  long  anticipated 
sandwiches,  lemonade  and  ice-cream  which 
Uncle  Joe  was  to  provide,  had  all  been  con- 
sumed by  him  in  the  form  of  Hungarian  wine 
and  vodka. 


48  Uncle  yoes  Lincoln 

One  boy  still  remained  in  the  ranks,  unrec- 
ognized and  unreviewed.  He  was  Rudolph, 
a  lame  boy,  the  son  of  a  poor,  Jewish  ped- 
dler. Although  he  had  a  fighting  soul,  he 
was  a  cripple.  He  limped  before  the  Gen- 
eral, took  off  his  cap  in  unmilitary  and  hum- 
ble fashion,  and,  in  his  peculiar,  sad  drawl, 
said  :  "  Mr.  General,  what  will  I  be  ?  " 

"  You,"  replied  the  General,  after  his  be- 
helmeted  head  had  sunk  in  deep  meditation 
upon  his  breast.  "  You,"  he  replied  with  a 
haughty  sneer,  "  will  be  the  veterans." 

"Veterans,"  Rudolph  asked,  encouraged 
by  the  high-sounding  word,  "  and  what  do 
they  do  ?  " 

"Veterans  are  the  cripples  who  are  no 
earthly  good  in  the  army,"  was  the  reply. 

The  poor  boy's  face  grew  red,  then  pale ; 
his  big  lower  lip  quivered  as  if  he  were  say- 
ing something  to  himself  which  he  dare  not 
say  aloud,  and  he  stepped  back  into  the  ranks 
followed  by  the  laughter  of  the  whole,  cruel 
army. 

After  the  review  the  General  gave  us  our 
marching  orders.  Our  object  was  the  Rus- 


The  Fourth  of  July  49 

sian  Hill  which  was  to  be  taken  by  storm. 
We  were  to  march  down  the  Kunovszka 
Ulitza  (main  street),  past  the  court-house, 
through  the  narrow  lane  which  led  to  the 
creek,  and  also  served  as  an  open  sewer,  and 
then  in  gallop  up  the  Hill. 

The  marching  orders  were  carried  out. 
We  passed  by  the  court-house,  and  the  seat 
of  the  government  of  our  district,  cruel  and 
corrupt  though  it  knew  itself  to  be,  did  not 
tremble.  The  gendarmes  who  kept  guard 
did  not  notice  us,  though  we  defiantly  whis- 
tled Yankee  Doodle  and  waved  the  flag  of  the 
American  Republic.  We  crossed  the  pottock 
(creek)  without  mishap,  and  clambered  up 
the  Russian  Hill  at  a  gallop,  leaving  the 
General  and  Rudolph  in  the  rear. 

We  never  knew  just  how  it  happened,  but 
as  we  looked  back  we  saw  the  General  with 
Rudolph  on  top  of  him,  scratching,  biting, 
and  beating  him.  Tearing  his  uniform,  and 
snatching  his  sword  from  under  him,  he 
threw  it  down  the  Hill,  then  he  himself  rolled 
down  its  grassy  slope,  and  when  he  had 
reached  a  safe  distance,  he  shouted  at  us  a 


50  Ujicle  Joes  Lincoln 

derisive  good-bye,  accompanied  by  a  well- 
known  gesture  in  which  both  his  outstretched 
hands  and  his  nose  had  a  part. 

The  General  finally  reached  us  minus  his 
sword,  a  few  inches  of  gold  braid  and  several 
brass  buttons.  His  hands  and  face  were 
badly  scratched  and  bleeding,  he  was  crying, 
and  his  nose  needed  wiping.  He  was  indeed 
a  defeated  General,  defeated  by  a  veteran 
who  was  "  no  earthly  good  in  an  army." 

Without  being  ordered  by  my  superior 
officer,  I  sent  the  cavalry  down  the  Hill  to 
capture  the  lame  boy  and  recover  the  Gen- 
eral's sword.  Then  I  applied  "  First  Aid " 
by  lending  the  General  my  handkerchief. 
The  cavalry  returned  without  the  deserter 
and  desecrater  of  the  head  of  our  army,  but 
did  bring  the  sword,  and  with  the  return  of 
the  symbol  of  his  power,  he  again  took  com- 
mand, and  the  Russian  Hill  at  the  edge  of 
our  town  resumed  historic  importance  after 
fifty  years  or  more  of  obscurity.  It  became 
the  center  of  our  celebration,  and  might  well 
have  been  rebaptized,  Liberty  Hill. 


Ill 

Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle 

"  TT  "I"  ILLS  are  good  for  slidin'  down  on  " 
£  2  is  the  boy's  view  of  the  use  of  a 
hill,  and  he  is  right.  That  is  just 
what  the  Russian  Hill  had  been  used  for  by 
several  generations  of  boys,  and  they  never 
knew  or  cared  to  know  that  it  had  a  history. 
We,  I  mean  the  boys  of  my  generation,  dis- 
covered its  historic  importance.  Every  dis- 
coverer, however,  follows  the  path  marked 
out  for  him  by  those  who  were  within  sight 
of  the  promised  land  and  did  not  enter  it, 
like  the  great  prophet  and  lawgiver,  Moses. 

The  boys  who  slid  down  that  Russian  Hill 
before  us  wore  it  smoother  and  smoother,  so 
that  we  finally  followed  in  the  groove  upon 
which  they  had  worn  out  certain  parts  of 
their  trousers.  Our  inheritance  was  a  track 
as  smooth  and  white  as  if  it  had  been  made 


52  Uncle  "Joes  Lincoln 

of  ivory,  and  when  our  impress  had  for  a 
long  time  been  made  upon  it,  particles  of  the 
white  substance  became  dislodged,  and  we 
found  them  to  be  bones ;  small  bones  at  first 
— fingers  and  teeth ;  then  larger  ones,  such 
as  arms  and  thigh  bones.  They  were  un- 
mistakably human  remains.  This  was  in- 
deed a  discovery,  which  gave  us  all  the  thrills 
that  an  army  in  the  making  needed. 

Of  course  we  had  dug  a  cave  in  its  side. 
Every  boy  at  one  time  or  another  has  dug 
a  cave ;  I  suppose  because  ages  and  ages 
ago  his  ancestors  had  to  live  in  caves,  and 
the  first  thing  a  boy  learned  to  do  was  to  dig 
or  help  dig  for  a  place  in  which  to  live.  It 
sort  of  got  into  his  blood,  and  now  he  has  to 
do  it.  It  is  rare,  however,  that  the  average 
boy  who  plays  soldier,  or  brigand,  has  such  a 
cave  as  we  dug  for  ourselves  into  the  side  of 
Russian  Hill.  The  first  few  spadefuls  yielded 
nothing  but  small  human  bones,  then  we 
struck  steel,  and  a  rusty  gun,  which  none  of 
us  dared  touch  for  fear  it  would  go  off.  We 
were  not  afraid  of  the  small  silver  and  large 
copper  coins  which  our  cave  yielded  us,  but 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle     5  3 

we  were  frightened  to  death  when  we  struck 
our  first  skull. 

The  whole  army  was  on  the  run  except 
Yanczy  Pal.  His  brave  ancestors,  who  had 
turned  many  a  good  head  into  just  such  a 
skull,  had  bequeathed  him  their  courage. 
He  did  not  flinch  when  a  little  later  we  un- 
earthed a  whole  skeleton,  and  with  the  aid  of 
Pavel  Chorvat  who,  being  a  blacksmith's 
son,  was  also  made  of  fairly  stern  stuff,  made 
the  skeleton  rather  presentable  by  binding  it 
together  with  strong  wire. 

Now  we  not  only  had  a  cave,  but  we  had 
a  big  secret,  and  such  a  secret !  A  real  skel- 
eton of  our  own  1 

Uncle  Joe  told  us  that  in  America  secret 
societies  used  skeletons  in  their  initiations, 
and  so  every  boy  who  joined  our  army  was 
initiated  by  having  the  gruesome  thing 
flashed  at  him  when  he  entered  the  cave ; 
then  with  his  hand  touching  the  skull  he  had 
to  take  an  oath  that  he  would  not  betray  us, 
on  penalty  of  his  life. 

After  the  inglorious  interruption  caused  by 
the  temporary  defeat  of  Yanczy  Pal,  the  next 


54  Uncle  "Joe's  Lincoln 

item  on  the  program  was  in  order :  namely, 
the  picnic;  but  instead  of  the  mysterious 
sandwiches,  and  the  unbelievable  ice-cream, 
we  had  to  content  ourselves  with  dill  pickles 
and  water  which  we  drew  from  a  near-by 
well.  To  this  we  added  sugar  and  some 
artificial  coloring ;  for  we  were  told  by  Uncle 
Joe  that  the  really  patriotic  lemonade  was 
generously  tinted. 

After  we  had  disposed  of  these  delectable 
refreshments  we  made  speeches,  indulging 
in  the  repetition  of  big  words,  such  as  The 
Union,  Freedom,  and  Democracy ;  words 
which  we  had  caught  from  Uncle  Joe,  and 
which  we  understood  about  as  well  as  many 
older  people  to  whom  they  were  not  so  new. 
Our  oratorical  passion  being  satisfied,  we 
planned  for  the  burning  of  the  fireworks,  the 
only  tangible  contribution  made  by  Uncle 
Joe  to  our  celebration. 

It  was  decided  that  I  was  to  bring  the  box, 
which  no  one  but  myself  had  as  yet  seen, 
to  the  market-place.  Yanczy  Pal,  being  a 
good  Roman  Catholic,  decreed  that  to  be 
perfectly  safe  the  fireworks  must  be  set  off 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle     5  5 

under  the  protection  of  the  statue  of  St. 
Florian,  who  was  the  heavenly  guardian 
against  fire.  When  the  rockets  had  done 
their  worst  in  frightening  the  people,  espe- 
cially the  minions  of  the  law,  we  were  to 
rush  through  the  streets  proclaiming  freedom 
for  the  Slovaks,  who  were  in  greatest  need 
of  liberation,  being  the  poorest  and  most 
oppressed  of  our  population. 

Before  we  left  for  our  homes  to  await  the 
darkness,  each  member  was  again  sworn  to 
a  secrecy  which  it  was  difficult  to  keep ;  for 
the  secret  was  so  big  that  it  threatened  to 
leak  from  such  small  vessels  as  we  were. 
Moreover,  we  all  smelled  of  the  cave,  having 
lingered  in  it  much  longer  than  usual ;  fur- 
thermore, dill  pickles  and  artificially  colored 
water,  drawn  from  a  long-neglected  and 
tainted  well,  were  playing  havoc  with  our 
stomachs. 

When  I  reached  home,  my  dog  came  run- 
ning out  to  greet  me  as  usual,  but  after  the 
first  embrace  he  dropped  his  tail  between  his 
legs,  stuck  his  snout  into  the  ground  and 
dug  and  dug  as  if  he  were  burying  some- 


56  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

thing.  Not  being  able  to  get  rid  of  the  dis- 
agreeable odor  that  way,  he  looked  at  me 
reproachfully  as  if  to  say :  "  Where  under 
the  sun  have  you  gathered  up  so  much  bad 
smell?" 

My  sister  asked  no  questions  when  she 
met  me  at  the  door.  She  closed  it  in  my 
face  and  I  went  to  the  kitchen.  There,  our 
cook  told  me  that  I  smelled  exactly  like  the 
ghost  which  she  once  met  at  midnight,  who 
told  her  that  he  was  a  tormented  soul  escaped 
from  Hell.  Then  she  ran  to  her  room  and 
brought  back  a  bottle  of  holy  water  with 
which  she  sprinkled  me.  When  that  was 
of  no  avail  she  very  roughly  took  me  by  the 
nape  of  my  neck  and  pushed  me  out  into 
the  wood-shed.  I  was  not  sorry  to  be  alone, 
for  things  were  happening  to  me  which  one 
does  not  care  to  have  happen  in  public. 
The  dill  pickles  and  the  tainted  water  be- 
came very  obtrusive,  and  I  had  a  solemn 
hour  of  it,  first  fearing  I  was  going  to  die 
and  then  as  I  grew  still  worse,  hoping  I 
should  die ;  for  life  just  then  was  a  frightful 
torture.  Long  before  the  sun  had  set  I  was 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle     57 

found,  made  to  undress  in  the  wood-shed, 
hustled  to  my  room  and  put  to  bed. 

Eight  o'clock  came.  Minus  my  clothing  I 
lay  between  two  feather  beds,  with  the  zenith 
of  the  Fourth  of  July  celebration  approach- 
ing. Of  course  I  had  to  be  there,  being  the 
only  one  who  knew  where  the  fireworks  were ; 
so  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  felt  as  sick  as  a 
boy  is  capable  of  feeling  when  his  digestive 
apparatus  is  in  active  revolution,  I  crept 
stealthily  out.  After  assuring  myself  that 
Uncle  Joe  was  still  in  the  twilight  zone  be- 
tween drunkenness  and  sobriety,  and  that  no 
aid  could  be  expected  from  him,  I  went  to  the 
granary  and  dug  the  box  of  fireworks  out  of 
the  grain.  I  carried  it  to  the  market-place 
and  to  the  sheltering  shadow  of  St.  Florian 
who,  with  his  bucket  carved  in  stone,  stood 
ready  to  protect  the  town  from  its  impending 
doom.  Less  than  half  our  army  had  gath- 
ered. All  looked  pale  and  seemed  in  no 
mood  for  liberating  anybody. 

Cannonball  was  absent,  so  our  whole  artil- 
lery was  out  of  commission.  The  cavalry, 
too,  was  minus  its  Jewish  captain — only  the 


58  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Gypsy  boys  had  come,  for  they  were  used  to 
bad  smells,  and  their  stomachs  being  copper 
lined  were  proof  against  anything. 

Yanczy  Pal,  our  brave  General,  was  pres- 
ent, and  Pavel  Chorvat,  who  had  drunk  worse 
things  than  tainted  sugar  water,  also  ap- 
peared. There  were  enough  of  us  to  set  off 
the  fireworks  although  there  were  too  few  of 
us  to  strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  op- 
pressors. 

The  night  watchman  was  making  his  first 
round.  He  carried  a  wooden  horn,  and  a 
long,  old-fashioned  halibard  was  his  weapon. 
He  tooted  the  hours  from  nine  till  four,  sol- 
emnly warning  all  sinners,  thieves  and  rob- 
bers to  get  out  of  his  way,  and  they  usually 
did.  We  waited  till  we  but  faintly  heard  him 
at  the  other  end  of  the  Kunovszka  Ulitza. 
We  heard  him  sing  his  pious  song  commit- 
ting the  people  to  the  care  of  the  heavenly 
powers. 

"  The  night  has  come  to  weary  men, 
To  rest  the  tired  Christian  ; 
To  Lutherans,  Gypsies  and  to  Jews, 
I  bring  this  blessed  Christian  news. 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle     59 

If  you  are  poor,  oh  !  worry  not, 
To  suffer  is  man's  earthly  lot ; 
If  rich  do  not  the  poor  neglect, 
St.  Florian  will  your  house  protect." 

Knowing  that  after  that  pious  provision  for 
mankind  he  would  spend  an  hour  at  the  inn, 
we  proceeded  with  our  celebration  though 
not  without  fear  and  trembling.  Yanczy  Pal 
lighted  the  first  and  last  match,  crossing  him- 
self and  committing  the  town  to  the  care  of 
St.  Florian,  as  from  his  outstretched  hand  a 
monster  serpent  leaped  hissing  toward  the 
sky  and  from  its  mouth  spewed  bombs  of 
many  colors  which  fell  across  the  church 
steeple  and  poured  a  rain  of  fire  upon  the 
thatched  roofs  of  the  town.  Then  that  hap- 
pened, which  so  often  has  happened  in 
the  United  States,  before  the  Fourth  of  July 
became  safe  and  sane.  The  entire  contents 
of  the  box  went  into  the  air  at  once;  for 
Yanczy  Pal  had  dropped  the  unextinguished 
match  into  it.  Immediately  we  were  envel- 
oped in  whirling  wheels  and  hissing  serpents. 
Never  since  the  Prussians  had  taken  the 
town  had  there  been  heard  such  a  dreadful 


60  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

cannonade.  Doors  were  opened,  cries  of 
alarm  were  heard  and  men  were  running 
toward  St.  Florian,  who  was  gloriously  il- 
lumined by  the  elements  which  he  was  sup- 
posed to  control. 

In  spite  of  our  paralyzing  fear  we  ran,  but 
were  too  frightened  to  shout  the  "  Battle  Cry 
of  Freedom."  Fortunately  we  were  not  very 
far  from  the  little  alley  which  led  to  Russian 
Hill.  We  crossed  the  creek  in  the  dark, 
found  our  way  to  Russian  Hill  by  the  light 
of  the  unpitying  stars,  and  then  went  into 
hiding  in  our  sheltering  cave,  more  gruesome 
than  ever.  My  comrades  began  to  whimper, 
for  some  of  them  suffered  from  minor  burns, 
and  more,  from  fear. 

None  of  us  dared  return  to  our  homes 
except  the  Gypsy  boys,  who,  their  homes 
being  in  the  open,  did  not  have  to  fear  creak- 
ing hinges  and  telltale  stairs.  The  rest  of  us 
huddled  close  together  and  awaited  develop- 
ments. We  heard  the  watchman  blow  the 
tenth  hour,  then  in  a  pious  song  call  down 
the  curses  of  Heaven  upon  all  unrepentant 
sinners  who  plan  mischief  in  the  dark  — 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle    6 1 

"  Oh,  ye  who  have  transgressed  to-night, 
Ye  cannot  be  secure  in  flight. 
The  power  of  God,  or  arm  of  State 
Will  reacli  you  ere  the  night  is  late. 
Come  forth  out  of  your  hiding-place 
While  yet  there  is  forgiving  grace, 
Oh,  hear — while  1  the  hour  blow 
Or  else  you'll  go  to  Hell  below." 

We  knew  he  meant  us  and  silently  awaited 
the  judgment  of  Heaven.  We  did  not  have 
long  to  wait.  The  murmur  of  voices  became 
audible  in  the  distance,  and  Yanczy  Pal,  the 
bravest  of  us,  who  was  guarding  the  Hill, 
reported  lights  hurrying  in  our  direction. 
They  came  nearer  and  nearer  and  encircled 
the  Hill.  Then  we  heard  the  voice  of  trea- 
son. Rudolph  the  lame  was  leading  the 
gendarmes  toward  the  cave  and  pointing  out 
the  opening.  We  were  betrayed,  but  not 
yet  defeated.  We  dragged  the  skeleton  to 
the  opening  of  the  cave.  I  say  we,  although 
no  one  was  brave  enough  to  do  it  but  Yanczy 
Pal.  It  broke  into  fragments  as  he  pulled  it, 
but  enough  remained  to  guard  the  entrance 
to  our  fortress. 

We  were  sheltered  behind  the  frame  of  the 
man  who  at  one  time  was  a  brave  soldier, 


62  Uncle  jfoe's  Lincoln 

and  for  a  minute  or  more  his  defense  was  a 
mighty  tower. 

The  first  gendarme  who  approached  the 
cave  gave  a  fierce  yell  when  he  faced  the 
grinning  skull,  then  ran  headlong  down  the 
Hill.  We  heard  a  scampering  of  many  feet 
and  saw  the  lights  moving  away  from  us. 
Another  gendarme  approached.  He  pushed 
aside  the  skeleton,  and  then  our  brave  General 
threw  at  him  another  frightful  object.  While 
he  was  not  hurt,  he  almost  turned  turtle  in 
his  flight,  his  lantern  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  he  was  swallowed  by  the  darkness. 

We  heard  again  the  voice  of  the  traitor 
telling  the  enemy  not  to  be  afraid,  that  he 
knew  it  was  just  a  bunch  of  boys,  and  he 
named  us.  Then  the  flood  broke  upon  us. 
Again  lights  approached  the  opening  of  the 
cave  but  now  we  had  no  more  skulls  to 
throw.  Faintly  we  could  see  the  watchman 
with  his  ancient  weapon  pointed  at  us.  Be- 
hind him  came  the  gendarmes  and  we  knew 
that  the  battle  was  lost.  We  were  dragged 
out,  taken  to  the  court-house,  locked  up  in  a 
filthy  hole,  and  our  parents  were  sent  for. 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle    6  3 

In  their  presence  we  were  chastised  in  the 
way  and  in  the  place  boys  have  been  chas- 
tised from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  Also 
we  were  told  what  all  boys  are  told  and  none 
believe — that  it  "  hurt  our  parents  more  than 
it  did  us." 

Our  unfortunate  parents  were  assessed  a 
proper  fine  which  they  paid,  after  which  we 
went  home,  sadder  and  wiser  but  undaunted ; 
for  I  managed  to  whisper  to  Yanczy  Pal  that 
Uncle  Joe  had  told  me  that  the  Lincoln  Army 
suffered  defeat  many  a  time,  that  the  war 
lasted  four  years  and  was  finally  won. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  that's  so."  Then  he 
added,  "  Basama  Teremtete  "  on  the  traitor. 

When  we  reached  home  I  was  once  more 
punished  and  I  felt  so  sick  that  I  did  not 
need  to  be  sent  to  bed.  When  at  last  I  fell 
asleep  I  dreamed  dreadful  dreams  of  skele- 
tons and  slaughter ;  of  the  Russian  Hill  col- 
lapsing and  falling  right  on  my  stomach. 
Rudolph  the  lame  was  riding  it  as  if  it  were 
a  hobby  horse,  and  calling  my  attention  to 
the  fact  that  veterans  were  good  for  some- 
thing after  all. 


64  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Uncle  Joe  was  there  and  I  could  hear  him 
sob  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  Gradually 
the  dream  seemed  to  fade  away.  I  remem- 
ber how  relieved  I  felt  that  it  was  only  a 
dream.  I  was  not  in  jail  but  in  my  room, 
safe  between  two  feather  beds.  However,  I 
was  puzzled,  because  while  all  the  rest  of  the 
dream  had  faded,  Uncle  Joe  was  there.  His 
hand  was  softly  touching  my  curls  and  he 
was  sobbing,  his  head  buried  in  one  of  the 
feather  beds.  I  called  him  by  name.  His 
crutch,  which  was  leaning  against  the  bed, 
fell,  as  he  rose  on  his  one  leg,  evidently 
startled  by  my  voice ;  then  his  whole  body 
seemed  to  collapse  over  me  as  he  embraced 
me.  Between  sobs  he  told  me  that  I  had  had 
typhoid  fever  for  many  weeks  and  that  they 
did  not  expect  me  to  live.  Had  I  died  he 
would  have  committed  suicide  ;  for  he  would 
have  been  my  murderer. 

The  doctor  came  and  Uncle  Joe  was  sent 
from  the  room  for  fear  he  would  excite  me 
too  much.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  hob- 
bling back  and  knocked  at  the  door,  asking 
permission  to  give  me  something.  He 


Tells  How  it  Ended  in  a  Miracle    65 

pressed  a  piece  of  paper  into  my  hands  but 
I  felt  too  weak  to  read  it.  I  fell  asleep  and 
slept  the  first  dreamless  sleep  for  many  a 
day.  When  I  woke  the  note  was  still  in  my 
hand,  moist  from  perspiration.  Slowly  I  un- 
folded it.  "  My  dear  Yingelle  (little  boy), 
get  well  as  quickly  as  you  can.  Please  for- 
give me  for  drinking  up  your  Fourth  of 
July.  I  am  glad  I  did  not  swallow  the  fire- 
works although  my  insides  felt  as  if  I  had 
swallowed  them.  I  will  never  drink  another 
drop  of  liquor,  so  help  me  Abraham  Lin- 
coln." 

Thus  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  Fourth  of 
July  did  not  liberate  anybody  but  ended  in 
a  catastrophe,  including  several  cases  of 
typhoid  fever,  it  was  nevertheless  a  glorious 
and  never-to-be-forgotten  day  ;  for  the  peas- 
ants declared  that  a  miracle  had  happened. 
St.  Florian  had  protected  the  town  from  fire 
which  had  rained  from  Heaven  upon  the 
thatched  roofs  of  their  isbas,  and  Uncle  Joe 
stayed  sober — until — but  that  is  another  story ; 
for  one  cannot  expect  two  miracles  to  hap- 
pen in  one  day. 


IV 

The  Burial  of  a  Hill,  when  Abraham 
Lincoln's  Famous  Speech  again  Be- 
came Famous 

OUR  town  was  the  seat  of  govern- 
ment for  a  large  district,  and  the 
aristocrats  were  the  officials,  or  the 
officials  were  the  aristocrats — either  would  be 
correct.     Judges,  tax  assay ers,  collectors  and 
commanders  of  gendarmes  gave  the  town 
both  dignity  and  revenue,  and  it  was  sadly 
in  need  of  both. 

The  official  most  envied  by  us  was  the 
Kisbiro,  who  discharged  a  multiplicity  of 
functions,  being  justice  of  the  peace,  jailor 
and  town  crier.  He  looked  about  ten  feet 
tall  to  boys  of  our  size ;  but  that  he  was 
seven  feet  I  know,  for  the  deaf  and  dumb 
tailor  who  made  his  clothes  also  made  mine. 

As  he  could  not  read  even  figures,  he  meas- 
66 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  67 

ured  the  length  of  his  patrons  against  the 
wall,  and  I  took  official  measurement  of  the 
Kisbirds  height  with  a  yardstick. 

Whether  he  had  sufficient  judicial  wisdom 
to  be  justice  of  the  peace  I  do  not  know ;  but 
he  looked  fierce  enough  to  be  a  jailor ;  he 
could  beat  a  drum  so  that  it  sounded  like  a 
small  thunder-storm,  and  he  announced  the 
new  laws  and  regulations  as  if  he  were  talk- 
ing from  Mount  Sinai.  We  envied  him 
neither  his  size  nor  his  many  offices,  but  we 
did  envy  him  his  great  big  drum  ;  for  it  was 
the  one  thing  our  army  needed  to  be  really 
an  army.  Who  knows  hovr  we  might  have 
stirred  the  world  for  liberty,  had  we  pos- 
sessed that  elemental  musical  instrument  ? 

At  the  first,  imperious  beats  of  his  drum 
on  a  certain  morning,  some  time  after  the 
community  had  recovered  from  its  first 
Fourth  of  July  celebration,  old  and  young 
rushed  into  the  street  to  hear  the  latest  of- 
ficial announcement.  "  By  command  of  the 
Velky  moshny "  (which,  literally  translated, 
means  high  and  mighty)  "  Foe  Ispan,  there 
will  be  a  holiday  on  next  Tuesday.  All 


68  Uncle  'Joe  s  Lincoln 

stores,  shops  and  schools  are  to  be  closed 
from  nine  till"  twelve."  That  was  good  news. 

He  also  commanded  by  the  same  high 
authority  that  no  water  should  be  drawn 
from  the  wells  in  the  vicinity  of  Russian 
Hill,  which  Hill  would  be  demolished  on 
that  day,  and  its  contents  officially  reburied 
in  consecrated  ground.  That  was  bad  news, 
for  we  should  lose  a  perfectly  good  cave  and 
a  famous  sliding  place. 

Russian  Hill,  which  was  thus  officially  to 
go  out  of  existence,  had  a  history  long  before 
we  gave  it  importance  by  our  Fourth  of  July 
celebration,  and  as  it  is  not  entirely  uncon- 
nected with  modern  events,  I  may  as  well 
tell  about  it  now. 

Our  country  was,  politically,  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  Monarchy.  It  was  made  up  of 
two  badly  matched  halves  each  wanting  to 
be  the  whole,  and  that  had  been  the  cause  of 
much  friction,  which  in  1848  ended  in  a  con- 
flagration. Our  half  of  Hungary  was  in  re- 
volt against  the  other  half,  and  its  people  set 
up  a  separate  government  under  a  great 
patriot  whose  name  was  Lajos  Kossuth.  He 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  69 

had  to  flee  from  his  country  and  for  a  while 
lived  in  the  United  States  and  was  treated 
as  a  guest  of  the  nation.  He  spoke  before 
Congress,  and  at  a  banquet  given  him,  Dan- 
iel Webster  made  an  eloquent  speech,  eulo- 
gizing this  famous  Hungarian  exile. 

The  Austrian  government  was  unable  to 
conquer  the  revolting  Hungarians,  so  the 
Emperor  asked  the  Czar  of  Russia  to  send 
his  troops  to  help  him.  Russia  and  Austria 
have  been  foes  and  allies  so  often  that  it 
keeps  boys  wondering  whether  nations  have 
any  more  sense  than  youngsters,  who  give 
each  other  a  black  eye  one  day,  and  the  next 
day  nibble  at  the  same  ice-cream  cone.  The 
Czar  despatched  his  soldiers,  and  they  fought 
the  revolutionists  near  the  town  where  we 
lived. 

The  heroic  dead,  Russians,  Croatians, 
Hungarians  and  what  not,  were  buried  to- 
gether, and  their  mass  grave  was  called 
Russian  Hill ;  but  its  historic  importance  was 
almost  forgotten  until  we  recalled  it  to  the 
authorities. 

That  it  had  been  a  menace  to  the  health 


70  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

of  the  community  had  to  be  found  out  by  an 
epidemic  of  typhoid  fever,  a  direct  result  of 
our  celebration,  which  therefore  was  justified. 
With  the  decision  to  bury  the  dead  in  conse- 
crated ground,  there  arose  anew  the  prob- 
lems which  ever  disturbed  our  never  peaceful 
religious  atmosphere. 

There  were  three  cemeteries  in  which  the 
three  religious  communions  buried  their 
dead,  Roman  Catholics,  Protestants  and 
Jews ;  and  though  not  always  overcareful 
where  or  how  their  people  lived,  they  were 
very  particular  about  where  they  were  bur- 
ied ;  so  the  reinterment  of  the  remains  in 
Russian  Hill  led  to  a  violent  quarrel,  which 
was  finally  left  to  the  government  for  settle- 
ment. As  government  settlement  involved 
the  usual  delay,  I  had  time  fully  to  recover 
and  the  community  had  time  to  forget ;  so  I 
had  an  important  part  in  the  public  ceremony 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  few  months  before 
I  had  been  a  fugitive  from  justice. 

By  competitive  trial  I  was  chosen  to  make 
a  speech  on  behalf  of  the  school  children,  on 
that  solemnly  festal  occasion.  All  my  con- 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  7 1 

servative  relatives  were  opposed  to  my 
taking  part,  because  the  government  de- 
cided that  the  Roman  Catholic  cemetery 
had  a  better  claim  to  the  dead  than  that 
of  any  other  faith.  My  mother  consented 
to  my  participation  In  the  exercises  because 
Uncle  Joe,  who  during  his  long  sojourn  in 
the  United  States  had  lost  whatever  religious 
scruples  he  may  have  had,  pointed  out  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  patriotic  and  not  the 
religious  phase  of  the  occasion  which  I  was 
to  represent.  After  all,  what  are  the  objec- 
tions of  Orthodox  relatives  compared  with 
one's  chance  to  make  a  speech  before  the 
dignitaries  of  one's  little  but  significant 
world  ? 

The  speech  I  was  to  deliver  was  written 
for  me  by  my  teacher,  and  in  Uncle  Joe's 
eyes  it  had  three  faults.  First,  it  was  too 
long ;  second,  it  was  full  of  big  words,  hard 
to  pronounce  and  harder  to  understand ; 
third,  it  was  written  in  an  antagonistic  spirit, 
exalting  one  national  group  over  the  other 
and  therefore  calculated  to  create  bad  feeling. 

So  Uncle  Joe  took  it  upon  himself  to  ab- 


72  Uncle  yoe's  Lincoln 

breviate  and  simplify  it,  which  he  did  so 
effectively  that,  when  under  his  training  I 
had  learned  it,  not  a  bit  of  the  original 
speech  remained.  To  this  day  I  remember 
every  word  of  it ;  for  what  one  stores  in  one's 
brain  when  very  young  is  rarely  forgotten, 
and  those  words  had  their  permanent  effect 
upon  my  diction  as  well  as  upon  my  thought. 
Each  simple  sentence  was  as  clear  as  if  cut 
into  steel,  the  thoughts  were  sublime,  and 
wooed  me  by  their  kindly  spirit. 

I  have  always  felt  profoundly  grateful  to 
Uncle  Joe  for  writing  that  speech ;  although 
I  was  severely  punished  for  using  it  instead 
of  the  one  prepared  for  me.  It  took  me 
twenty  years  or  more  to  find  out  that  Uncle 
Joe  was  a  plagiarist ;  but  I  have  forgiven 
him,  and  I  am  sure  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
has,  for  in  his  brain  and  heart  the  thoughts 
were  conceived.  No  doubt  it  was  the  first 
time  that  his  words  were  heard  in  our  coun- 
try, and  they  were  like  balm  upon  the  fester- 
ing wounds  of  our  racial  body,  so  distressed 
by  jealousies,  hates  and  prejudices.  One 
sentence  of  that  speech  has  helped  me  more 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  73 

than  anything  I  have  since  read,  outside  the 
Bible  ;  but  I  would  anticipate  should  I  quote 
it  now. 

Other  members  of  the  Lincoln  Army  had 
a  share  in  the  proceedings.  Yanczy  Pal  in 
his  gorgeous  uniform  led  the  procession  of 
school  children,  and  acted  as  master  of  cere- 
monies during  the  exercises  conducted  by 
them. 

"  Cannonball "  carried  a  wreath  which  en- 
circled his  whole  body,  and  the  heat  and  dust 
made  him  look  like  an  animated  fried  cake. 

"  Speckled  Horse "  proudly  bore  the 
school  flag;  so  on  the  whole,  the  Lincoln 
Army  did  not  fare  badly  in  the  distribution 
of  honors. 

I  was  proud,  but  most  unhappy.  I  wore  a 
new  suit  of  clothes ;  for  though  I  had  been 
told  that  I  was  not  to  have  any  after  ruining 
my  best  suit  in  our  late  campaign,  this  offi- 
cial occasion  demanded  one.  It  was  made 
large  enough  in  anticipation  of  my  growth, 
and  heavy  enough  in  preparation  for  the 
coming  autumn.  I  also  wore  new  shoes 
with  patent  leather  tips,  and  it  was  a  hot, 


74  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

sultry  day.  The  heat  seemed  to  expand  my 
suit  and  contract  my  shoes,  and  my  torment 
was  increased  by  the  collar  I  wore.  I  had 
not  yet  reached  the  age  when  I  could  boast 
collars  of  my  own,  so  that  on  state  occasions 
I  wore  one  which  was  never  intended  for  a 
male  being.  It  belonged  to  my  sister. 
Women  evidently  can  stand  all  sorts  of  tor- 
tures from  their  clothes — tortures  under 
which  the  sterner  sex  wilts ;  and  that  is  ex- 
actly what  I  did,  I  wilted,  all  of  me.  My 
poor  brain,  in  anticipation  of  the  speech,  my 
collar  and  everything  else  except  my  shoes ; 
they  refused  to  wilt,  but  grew  stiff  as  boiler 
plate,  and  the  hotter  they  grew,  the  more 
unyielding  they  became,  and  I  was  in  tor- 
ment every  minute. 

All  the  ministers  of  the  different  religious 
faiths  took  part,  and  to  make  sure  that  the 
remains  were  properly  buried,  a  priest  of  the 
Greek  Orthodox  church,  which  was  not  rep- 
resented among  us,  was  imported  for  the 
occasion.  He  officiated  for  nearly  two  hours, 
most  of  the  time  in  a  language  which  no  one 
understood,  so  that  I  was  not  the  only  suf- 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  75 

ferer.  When  he  finished,  in  my  anxiety  to 
be  done,  I  thought  Yanczy  Pal  signalled  that 
it  was  my  turn,  but  instead  the  choir  was  to 
sing.  So  while  I  ascended  the  steps  to  the 
platform,  they  sang  a  beautiful  although  sad 
anthem,  which  like  all  anthems  was  largely 
the  repetition  of  one  phrase  :  "  Their  weary 
feet  are  at  rest,  are  at  rest."  I  felt  nothing 
but  feet  and  saw  nothing  but  steps,  of  which 
there  seemed  to  be  a  thousand.  At  last  the 
choir  ceased  to  glorify  the  feet  of  the  dead 
and  my  chance  came.  I  saw  Uncle  Joe  crowd- 
ing close  to  the  platform.  He  planted  him- 
self directly  in  front  of  me ;  for  he  had 
pinned  the  speech  to  his  Grand  Army  hat 
which  he  held  so  that  in  case  my  memory 
failed  me,  I  could  read  it. 

The  precaution  was  not  necessary.  The 
speech  had  become  part  of  me.  It  was  in- 
spired by  Lincoln's  Gettysburg  address, 
most  of  which  it  embodied,  and  was  as  ap- 
plicable then  as  it  was  at  the  national  ceme- 
tery when  the  survivors  of  our  Civil  War 
were  asked  to  rededicate  themselves  to  the 
Union. 


76  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

There  were  also  sentences  from  other  ad- 
dresses, more  or  less  aptly  interwoven,  and 
the  closing  words  were  Lincoln's  immortal  , 
phrase :    "  With '  malice    toward   none,  and, 
charity  toward  all."  • 

I  was  not  old  enough  to  know  the  full 
meaning  of  it,  but  I  think  I  sensed  it,  and  my 
audience  received  it  with  its  full,  vibrating 
force.  When  I  finished,  there  was  a  silence 
and  then  a  shout,  quite  out  of  keeping  with 
funerals.  The  crowd  surged  around  me. 
The  Greek  Orthodox  priest  embraced  me  till 
I  seemed  suffocated  in  his  embroidered  vest- 
ments ;  the  Lutheran  pastor  shook  my  hand 
and  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  extended  his 
for  me  to  kiss.  After  so  democratic  an  ad- 
dress I  was  in  no  mood  for  that,  but  I  shook 
it,  much  to  his  discomfiture. 

A  dear  lady  of  the  nobility  anointed  me 
with  her  tears,  while  another  nearly  spoiled 
my  new  suit  by  traces  of  rouge.  All  the 
time  I  was  eager  to  escape  my  large  suit,  my 
small  shoes  and  my  collar,  whose  pins  had 
broken  loose  from  their  moorings  and  were 
stabbing  me. 


The  Burial  of  a  Hill  77 

When  I  escaped  my  admirers  I  faced  the 
reverse  side  of  the  shield.  The  teacher  who 
had  written  my  speech  took  me  by  my  wilted 
collar  and  shook  me  until  my  teeth  chat- 
tered, telling  me  to  stay  after  school  the  next 
day  to  be  punished. 

At  last  under  the  shelter  of  a  blooming 
acacia  tree,  I  divested  myself  of  my  new 
shoes,  my  cruel  collar  and  heavy  coat.  I 
was  joined  by  "  Cannonball,"  "  Speckled 
Horse  "  and  Yanczy  Pal,  who  then  and  there 
demonstrated  how  futile  the  noble  thoughts 
of  the  best  of  men  may  be. 

The  officers  of  the  Lincoln  Army,  assem- 
bled for  the  first  time  since  their  betrayal  by 
Rudolph  the  lame,  began  planning  how  to 
wreak  vengeance  upon  him.  How  could  I 
enter  into  their  schemes,  with  that  glorious 
closing  sentence  still  vibrating  in  my  ears, 
like  the  notes  of  a  hymn  amid  the  arches  of 
some  great  cathedral  — 

"  With  malice  toward  none,  with  charity 
toward  all" 


V 

In  Which  the  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
Triumphs  over  That  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte 

YANCZY  PAL,  be  it  understood,  was 
an  aristocrat,  and  came  from  a  very 
illustrious  family.  His  warrior  an- 
cestors as  a  reward  for  their  services  received 
much  land  from  the  king.  They  built  them- 
selves a  big  house  which  was  called  a 
Castell.  It  had  two  stories,  and  was  for  a 
long  time  the  only  building  in  our  town 
which  boasted  such  dizzy  heights.  It  con- 
tained many  rooms  which  seemed  to  us 
children  royal  in  their  appointments ;  al- 
though when  Yanczy  Pal  was  born  in  one 
of  them,  their  splendor  had  faded.  The  tap- 
estried walls  were  dingy,  and  the  upholstered 
furniture  was  so  worn  that  the  springs  pro- 
truded like  the  ribs  of  a  lean  cow.  The 

ancestral  portraits  which  adorned  the  walls 
78 


The  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln    79 

looked  dull  and  their  gilded  frames  were 
tarnished  and  crumbling. 

To  us  of  the  Lincoln  Army  not  born  in 
two-story  buildings  and  with  no  illustrious 
ancestors,  it  was  inspiring ;  and  it  was  a  great 
day  in  our  lives  when  we  were  permitted  to 
walk  over  the  waxed  floors  and  gaze  our  fill 
at  the  wonderful  sights. 

There  were  a  few  of  those  things  which 
especially  fascinated  me,  and  one  was  a 
piano.  I  suspect  that  if  I  should  see  it  now, 
it  would  look  small,  old-fashioned  and  insig- 
nificant, and  would  sound  like  an  old  tin  pan 
if  I  heard  it ;  but  then  it  seemed  to  me  the 
most  remarkable  and  most  mysterious  thing 
I  had  ever  seen,  and  heavenly  harps  played 
by  some  angelic  musician  would  not  have 
sounded  half  so  sweet  as  when  Yanczy  Pal's 
older  sister  played  the  Blue  Danube  Waltz 
on  that  battered  instrument. 

Still  a  greater  fascination  than  that  of  the 
piano  was  exercised  over  me  by  a  suit  of 
mail,  once  worn  by  Yanczy  Pal's  heroic  an- 
cestors. It  was  so  huge  that  only  a  giant 
could  have  carried  it,  and  stood  in  the  State 


80  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

room,  or  that  which  had  served  as  one.  At 
the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  it  was  used  as 
a  bedchamber  when  high  State  officials  or 
military  officers  visited  our  district.  Later, 
when  I  read  the  romances  of  Walter  Scott, 
they  had  the  same  kind  of  influence  over 
me  as  this  armor.  It  stimulated  my  im- 
agination, and  many  a  fantastic  story  swept 
through  my  brain  as  I  gazed  at  the  suit  of 
mail.  I  thought  of  castles  and  kings,  the 
clash  of  arms ;  gallant  knights,  and  lance 
thrusts  for  fair  ladies.  I  created  for  myself  a 
world  of  my  own  in  which  I  lived  every  time 
I  had  a  chance  to  look  at  that  ancient  relic. 

The  greatest  thrill  which  the  Castell 
afforded  me  and  which  made  my  rather 
dreary  world  very  exciting,  was  a  secret  pas- 
sage which  Yanczy  Pal  and  I  discovered.  A 
castle  wouldn't  be  a  castle  without  a  secret 
passage,  and  a  boy's  life  would  be  without 
one  of  its  supreme  experiences  without  his 
knowing  or  reading  of  it.  The  secret  pas- 
sage in  the  Castell  led  from  the  panelled 
State  room  out  into  the  garden,  and  cruel 
gossip  had  it  that  it  was  used  by  Yanczy 


The  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln     81 

Pal's  spendthrift  ancestors  to  escape  from 
their  creditors. 

In  the  park  at  the  rear  was  the  tenpin  alley, 
and  thither  at  the  appointed  time  we  found 
our  way  across  devious  paths ;  for  Yanczy 
Pal's  parents  were  trying  to  shield  their  aris- 
tocratic son  from  contact  with  us  plebeians. 
The  tenpin  alley  itself  was  overgrown  by 
weeds,  and  so  uneven  that  the  tenpins  were 
battered  and  hadn't  much  leg'  to  stand  on. 
They  were  ever  so  much  easier  to  knock 
down  than  to  put  up,  and  the  strong  jarring 
of  the  balls  usually  sent  them  all  into  a  heap. 
The  balls  were  oval  from  wear,  and  so  split 
and  gouged  that  to  my  imagination  they 
suggested  skulls  ;  therefore  when  the  Lincoln 
Army  gathered  that  afternoon,  we  all  renewed 
our  vows  and  pledged  our  lives,  with  our 
hands  upon  the  tenpin  balls. 

The  army,  since  its  defeat,  was  badly  crip- 
pled in  numbers  and  none  of  us  dared  appear 
in  uniform.  There  are  cowards  everywhere, 
even  in  the  Lincoln  Army,  and  many  of  its 
former  members  failed  to  respond  to  their 
names  when  the  General  once  more  reviewed 


82  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

us.  Evidently  he  had  seen  a  picture  of  the 
defeated  Napoleon,  and  I  suspected  that  he 
was  imitating  him,  as  he  stood  before  us,  his 
head  on  his  breast,  one  hand  behind  his 
back,  and  one  between  the  buttons  of  his 
coat,  his  hat  askew,  Napoleon  fashion. 

Then  he  addressed  us,  with  the  echoes  of 
the  funeral  orations  still  in  his  mind.  It  was 
all  very  eloquent  and  moving.  There  was 
only  one  object  before  us  and  that  had  to 
be  speedily  accomplished — vengeance  on  the 
traitor.  Armin  Griinwald  and  Cannonball 
were  ordered  to  bring  the  lame  boy  dead  or 
alive,  and  the  rest  of  us  remained  to  plan  the 
manner  of  his  punishment.  I  cannot  quite 
imagine  what  we  thought  about  the  matter. 
I  know  I  had  a  frightful  horror  of  death,  and 
the  very  word  created  in  my  mind  an  un- 
pleasant sensation  ;  so  to  deliberately  plan 
the  death  of  another  human  being  must  have 
been  repellent  and  horrible.  I  remember 
that  one  boy,  Pavel  Cliorvat,  the  black- 
smith's son,  suggested  pieces  of  sulphur 
matches  soaked  in  whisky  ;  another  one  pro- 
posed poisonous  mushrooms.  Shooting  and 


The  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln    83 

hanging  were  suggested ;  but  we  had  no 
firearms,  and  hanging  seemed  very  cruel. 
When  the  vote  was  taken,  the  poisonous 
mushrooms  carried  the  day,  and  I,  as  the 
Commissary  Department,  was  ordered  to 
procure  them  immediately. 

Not  far  from  the  tenpin  alley  was  a  famous 
tree.  It  was  so  large  that  ten  boys  hand  in 
hand  could  not  span  it,  and  its  height  seemed 
to  reach  the  clouds,  like  the  spire  of  some 
great  cathedral.  It  was  called  the  Hussite 
tree,  because  it  was  believed  that  the  Hus- 
sites, a  persecuted  religious  sect,  once  wor- 
shipped under  it.  Mushrooms  in  abundance 
grew  around  it.  The  dampness  which  envel- 
oped me  when  I  began  looking  for  them 
must  have  cooled  my  vengeful  spirit,  and 
my  horror  of  death  led  me  to  select  such  of 
the  fungi  as  I  knew  not  to  be  poisonous. 
When  I  returned  to  the  army,  it  had  been 
suggested  that  we  all  hide  in  the  branches 
of  the  Hussite  tree,  and  when  our  brave 
squadron,  which  had  gone  for  the  traitor, 
returned  with  him,  we  should  appear  sud- 
denly with  the  cry :  "  Death  to  the  traitor  I " 


84  Uncle  "Joe's  Lincoln 

Before  very  long  we  heard  the  expedition 
returning,  bringing  Rudolph.  He  had  been 
taken  by  guile,  not  knowing  of  the  reorgani- 
zation of  the  army,  and  walked  into  the  trap 
we  had  laid,  unconscious  of  what  awaited 
him.  As  soon  as  he  came  under  the  tree 
we  shouted  together,  "  Death  to  the  traitor  I " 
and  climbing  down  as  fast  as  we  could,  en- 
circled our  victim.  He  was  terribly  fright- 
ened and  tried  to  run  away.  Fear  added  to 
his  strength  and  it  took  the  combined  efforts 
of  the  army  to  drag  him  to  the  tenpin  alley 
where  his  punishment  was  to  be  meted  out. 
His  face  was  red  from  rage.  He  struggled 
desperately,  scratching,  kicking  and  spitting, 
and  Yanczy  Pal's  announcement  that  he  was 
forthwith  to  be  executed  drove  the  poor  fel- 
low into  a  fit  of  hysterics.  Fortunately  I 
remembered  that  Rudolph  had  taught  me 
"  gibberish,"  a  language  which  is  sometimes 
called  "  dog  Latin."  For  two  lessons  I  paid 
him  three  old  steel  pens  and  a  dill  pickle. 

In  the  hubbub  I  managed  to  tell  him  that 
nothing  would  happen  to  him,  but  that  he 
must  do  exactly  what  he  was  commanded. 


The  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln     8  5 

He  quieted  down,  and  Yanczy  Pal,  again 
assuming  the  Napoleonic  attitude,  harangued 
the  traitor,  telling  him  of  his  own  illustrious 
ancestor,  who  cut  off  the  heads  of  a  whole 
regiment  of  soldiers  for  insubordination,  and 
that  with  the  same  courage  he  would  now 
take  the  life  of  our  betrayer. 

"  Executioner,  come  forward  !  "  he  shouted 
at  me.  I  left  the  ranks  and  approaching  my 
victim,  offered  him  the  "cup  of  hemlock," 
some  water  in  which  the  mushrooms  had 
been  soaked.  To  the  consternation  of  his 
tormentors  he  took  the  cup  out  of  my  hand 
and  drained  it.  I  saw  the  look  of  horror 
creeping  from  face  to  face ;  no  doubt  the 
boys  were  beginning  to  realize  the  cruelty  of 
it,  or  they  were  thinking  of  the  consequences 
to  themselves. 

I  cannot  help  wondering  whether  I  was  not 
posing,  and  wished  to  appear  magnanimous. 
At  any  rate  I  called  the  attention  of  the  army 
to  the  fact  that  Uncle  Joe  was  a  deserter  and 
was  about  to  be  shot  when  Abraham  Lincoln 
pardoned  him,  and  that  in  all  things  we  must 
do  what  he  had  done.  Every  one  was  ready 


86  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

to  forgive  the  offense,  but  the  problem  was 
how  to  save  the  boy  who  had  already  drunk 
the  fatal  poison.  I  suggested  to  the  horri- 
fied army  that  I  had  read  somewhere  that 
if  a  person  who  has  eaten  poisonous  mush- 
rooms is  soundly  slapped  in  the  face,  it  will 
cure  him.  I  was  implored  to  do  it,  and  to 
do  it  quickly.  With  a  solemn  air,  I  walked 
up  to  the  lame  boy,  and  told  him  that, 
though  he  deserved  death,  in  the  name  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  we  would  forgive  him,  if 
he  would  swear  by  one  of  the  tenpin  balls 
that  he  would  tell  no  one  what  had  happened, 
that  he  would  rejoin  the  army,  and  hence- 
forth be  faithful.  He  so  promised. 

I  am  sure  that  Yanczy  Pal  was  not  quite 
satisfied  by  the  procedure  for  he  once  more 
assumed  the  Napoleonic  attitude,  and  again 
talked  of  his  noble  ancestor  who  cut  off  the 
heads  of  a  whole  regiment  of  soldiers.  I, 
too,  acted  a  part,  for  I  assumed  the  Lincoln 
pose,  as  best  I  could.  I  repeated  in  a  very 
loud  voice  a  sentence  from  the  speech  pre- 
pared for  me  by  Uncle  Joe  and  for  which  I 
received  twenty  lashes  from  the  teacher  whose 


j  The  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln    87 

literary  effort  had  been  made  useless.  That 
was  the  first,  but  not  the  last  time  I  suffered 
for  the  glorious  sentiment  it  contained. 

"With  malice  toward  none  and  charity 
toward  all,"  I  repeated  ;  then  slapped  the  lame 
boy  soundly  in  the  face,  at  the  same  time 
telling  him  that  he  was  both  cured  and  for- 
given. 

As  Rudolph  did  not  die  then  and  there,  but 
lived  to  be  a  useful  and  loyal  member  of  the 
Lincoln  Army,  I  proved  conclusively  that 
slapping  a  boy's  face  is  a  good  antidote  for 
poisonous  mushrooms,  that  charity  is  a  good 
cure  for  malice  and  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
was  a  better  man  to  follow  than  Napoleon  or 
Yanczy  Pal's  heroic  and  glorious  ancestors. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  all  the  members  of 
the  Lincoln  Army  felt  very  happy  in  having 
saved  a  human  life  and  forgiven  a  traitor, 
Yanczy  Pal  told  us  upon  adjournment  that 
we  were  a  lot  of  cowards  and  sissies.  To 
emphasize  his  disgust  with  us  and  especially 
with  me,  he  said  "  Basama  Teremtete  "  three 
times,  then  spat  on  the  ground  three  times, 
and  once  in  my  direction.  He  dismissed  us 


88  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

and  told  us  to  appear  in  the  same  place  on  a 
certain  day  (for  the  Hussite  tree  was  to  be 
our  headquarters),  as  he  had  resolved  upon 
far  more  thrilling  adventures  in  the  future. 
From  that  time,  however,  our  army  was  never 
again  as  united  as  before ;  for  Yanczy  Pal 
became  my  enemy  and  Rudolph  was  my 
friend  The  seeds  of  discord  had  been  sown, 
and  the  harvest  was  not  so  very  far  away. 


VI 

A  Real  Tyrant  is  Put  to  Flight  by  an 
Imitation  Ghost 

DEPRIVED  of  our  cave  we  took  to 
the  tree  top.  In  the  natural  history 
of  man,  the  process  is  supposed  to 
be  reversed.  When  man  was  living  in  the 
tree  tops,  he  naturally  used  his  arms  more  than 
his  legs,  just  like  the  monkeys ;  and  when  he 
sprang  down,  and  ran  into  a  hole  to  hide 
himself  from  his  enemies,  he  began  to  use 
his  legs,  and  became  ever  so  much  more  of  a 
man,  and  less  of  a  monkey.  Some  of  us  had 
not  sprung  very  far,  judging  from  the  way 
we  took  to  the  tree  in  whose  branches  we  had 
built  ourselves  a  club-house.  We  came  to- 
gether to  improve  our  minds,  sadly  in  need 
of  it.  We  possessed  only  one  book,  a  His- 
tory of  the  United  States,  lent  us  by  Uncle 

Joe,  who  took  great  interest  in  our  venture, 
89 


90  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

but  knew  nothing  about  the  mischief  we  were 
concocting. 

Uncle  Joe  had  told  us  that  Abraham  Lin- 
coln had  not  gone  to  school  and  that  he  edu- 
cated himself  out  of  books  which  he  read 
lying  on  the  bare  floor.  While  we  would 
have  liked  to  do  in  all  things  as  he  did,  es- 
pecially in  not  going  to  school,  the  law  and 
our  parents  compelled  us  to  go ;  so  we  bor- 
rowed whatever  books  we  could,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  educate  ourselves  according  to 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

We  had  no  public  library  and  I  doubt  that 
there  were  a  hundred  books  in  the  town. 
There  were  only  two  sources  open  to  us ;  one 
of  them  was  a  loan  library  kept  by  the  glazier, 
who  lived  in  one  room,  which  was  workshop, 
living-room  and  library  combined.  The 
books  were  largely  yellowbacks  of  the  cheap- 
est and  poorest  kind.  The  other  was  the  li- 
brary shelves  in  the  State  room  of  Yanczy 
Pal's  home.  These  books  were  a  curious 
combination  of  a  little  bit  of  everything. 
They  were  mostly  religious  books  written  in 
Latin,  so  were  not  very  useful  in  our  educa- 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight  91 

tion,  and  we  had  to  borrow  them  when  no- 
body was  looking,  which  was  not  proper  or 
always  easy.  Nevertheless  a  deep  impression 
was  made  upon  us  by  what  we  read,  and  the 
mere  handling  of  the  books  we  could  not  un- 
derstand left  its  influence. 

It  is  over  forty  years  since  all  this  hap- 
pened ;  yet  the  other  day  when  my  boy 
asked  me  what  an  automaton  is,  my  mind 
immediately  jumped  back  forty  years,  and  I 
saw  Pavel  Chorvat,  pockmarked,  strong,  ill- 
smelling  youth,  to  whom  I  had  been  reading 
about  a  remarkable  automaton  which  was 
being  exhibited  in  the  capitals  of  Europe.  It 
was  the  topic  of  conversation  at  that  period, 
and  we  went  to  work  at  once  to  make  one 
out  of  the  steel  armor  in  Yanczy  Pal's  State 
room. 

We  sneaked  up  our  secret  passage,  Pavel 
with  a  lot  of  wires  and  tools  borrowed  from 
his  father'  s  shop.  I  followed  with  the  big 
book  which  had  in  it  the  description  of  the 
automaton.  After  many  fruitless  attempts, 
he  finally  succeeded  )in  making  the  knight 
Uft  his  steel  hands,  when  we  manipulated  the 


92  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

wires.  It  was  Pavel's  first  step  toward  be- 
coming an  inventive  genius,  and  it  aroused 
in  all  of  us  whatever  mechanical  skill  we 
possessed,  and  could  couple  with  our  rich 
imaginations. 

Now,  as  I  think  back  to  that  period,  I 
realize  how  scant  our  supply  of  books  was, 
and  how  inappropriate  those  we  did  read  ; 
also  how  deep  was  the  impression  which 
they  made  upon  our  minds.  Whenever  I  go 
to  a  public  library  and  see  the  stacks  of 
books,  the  free  access  to  them,  rooms  for  the 
children,  and  the  librarians  especially  trained 
to  care  for  their  intellectual  needs,  I  wonder 
whether  as  we  had  too  little,  the  children  now 
may  not  have  too  much,  and  whether  the 
advantage  was  not  ours. 

We  certainly  did  appreciate  the  printed 
page,  and  in  an  unsystematic  way  came  to 
know  that  there  was  a  larger  world  than  our 
own,  and^thatmuch  could  be  learned  about  it 
through  books.  Above  all  else  it  gave  us 
new  ideals,  which  in  our  confused  way  we 
tried  to  realize.  Yanczy  Pal  and  a  few  others 
chafed  under  this  unsoldier-like  existence, 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Plight  93 

and  more  than  once  when  I  read  aloud,  I 
noticed  that  they  were  restless  and  did  not 
share  with  me  my  thirst  for  knowledge. 

We  were  growing  older  and  changing  in 
many  ways,  but  a  greater  change  was  taking 
place  in  the  world  around  us  which,  though 
it  was  tucked  away  in  the  Carpathian  Moun- 
tains, felt  the  pressure  of  industrial  and  polit- 
ical events.  We  saw  the  use  of  the  first  coal 
oil  lamp,  and  were  able  to  explain  its  myste- 
ries to  those  who  had  not  educated  them- 
selves as  we  had.  We  greeted  the  coming 
of,  the  first  sewing-machine  with  particular 
joy,  because  it  came  from  America,  and  we 
knew  something  about  the  inventor  and  the 
location  of  'the  factory  which  exported  the 
machines  to  Europe.  We  were  also  present 
when  the  first  threshing-machine  made  its 
appearance.  It  was  the  first  steam-driven 
machine  any  one  in  our  region  had  ever 
seen,  and  two  tragedies  were  connected  with 
its  coming. 

The  first  day  it  was  used,  after  drink  had 
been  passed  to  the  laborers,  one  of  them 
wanted  to  show  his  courage  by  jumping  over 


94  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

the  opening  into  which  the  grain  was  fed. 
He  fell  into  it,  his  feet  were  caught  by  the 
revolving  machinery,  and  while  he  was  not 
instantly  killed,  he  died  soon  after.  This  in- 
cident impressed  itself  deeply  upon  our 
minds ;  for  it  was  the  first  violent  death  we 
had  seen.  That  night  the  peasants  attacked 
the  threshing-machine  and  demolished  it,  be- 
cause they  believed  it  was  made  by  the  devil. 

But  the  changes  which  affected  us  most 
were  in  the  political  field  and  they  furnished 
that  kind  of  activity  for  the  army  which  our 
General  desired,  and  which  was  needed  to 
keep  up  its  martial  spirit. 

I  have  already  indicated  that  the  country 
in  which  I  lived  was  inhabited  by  many  dif- 
ferent races  and  peoples,  speaking  different 
languages.  The  ruling  people  were  the 
Magyars,  who  spoke  a  language  which  they 
brought  with  them  from  Asia,  their  original 
home.  They  were  a  warlike  race  and  con- 
quered many  small  nations.  Out  of  their 
territory  they  formed  the  Kingdom  of  Hun- 
gary, which  later  became  a  part  of  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  Monarchy.  For  many  centuries 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight  95 

they  permitted  the  different  people  to  speak 
their  own  languages,  but  suddenly  they  de- 
cided that  all  must  learn  the  language  of 
their  conquerors,  and  that  momentous  deci- 
sion was  made  at  a  time  when  the  Lincoln 
Army  had  no  other  object  than  to  get  an 
education  a  la  Abraham  Lincoln. 

The  cruel  blow  fell  first  of  all  upon  our 
teachers.  Those  who  did  not  know  the 
Magyar  language  were  discharged,  and  a 
strange  type,  less  kindly  and  very  arrogant, 
took  their  places.  Our  text-books  were 
taken  from  us,  and  replaced  by  those  in  a 
new  language  which  many  of  us  had  never 
spoken  and  did  not  understand.  Our  names 
were  Magyarized  and  turned  around,  for  in 
the  new  language  the  family  name  comes 
first  and  the  given  name  last.  The  names 
of  the  streets  were  changed  ;  even  our  town 
was  rebaptized  so  that  we  really  lived  in  a 
totally  different  world. 

The  new  order  was  to  be  officially  inau- 
gurated by  the  visit  of  a  great  functionary. 
He  was  the  Foe  Ispan,  a  sort  of  governor, 
who  was  appointed  to  his  office  by  the  king. 


96  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

He  was  to  be  received  officially,  and  the 
entire  population  in  its  various  capacities 
went  out  to  meet  him — the  clergy,  the 
school  children,  the  different  guilds,  the 
gendarmes,  and  the  many  officials  in  whom 
we  were  richly  blessed. 

The  Foe  Ispan  arrived  in  his  state  carriage 
drawn  by  six  horses,  with  marvellous,  richly 
decorated  harness.  They  raised  a  great 
cloud  of  dust,  and  as  the  carriage  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  we  shouted  at  a  given 
signal :  "  Elyen  !  Elyen  !  "  which  was  the 
cheer  in  the  language  under  which  we  were 
now  to  live.  It  means  "  Long  may  he  live," 
or  something  complimentary  like  that ;  but 
to  tell  the  truth  we  didn't  care  how  long  he 
lived,  for  we  had  made  up  our  minds  that  we 
wouldn't  like  him  because  he  came  to  op- 
press us. 

Of  course  his  headquarters  were  in  Yanczy 
Pal's  home,  and  this  gave  the  Lincoln  Army 
its  chance  to  again  act  in  a  liberating  ca- 
pacity. There  was  much  scouring  and  cook- 
ing and  ever  and  ever  so  many  things  to  do 
there,  so  that  the  members  of  the  Lincoln 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight  97 

Army  could  lay  their  plans  pretty  much  un- 
observed. Every  one  was  excited  about  the 
Foe  /span's  coming,  and  so  were  we,  but 
from  a  different  cause.  We  planned  to  drive 
the  oppressor  from  the  town,  and  lay  all  its 
inhabitants  under  obligation  to  us.  We  had 
little  doubt  that  our  names  would  become  as 
immortal  as  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

That  night  there  was  a  State  supper  at 
Yanczy  Pal's  home,  to  which  many  of  the 
town  dignitaries  were  invited.  It  lasted  long 
into  the  night ;  so  after  all  our  preparations 
were  made,  we  went  home,  said  our  prayers 
and  went  to  bed.  When  we  were  supposed 
to  be  asleep  we  got  up,  and  without  saying 
our  prayers,  went  to  the  Hussite  tree,  and 
together  moved  toward  the  secret  entrance. 
It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  whole  army 
was  not  active  in  this  enterprise.  As  usual 
Yanczy  Pal  was  the  directing  genius,  al- 
though I  must  lay  claim  to  having  suggested 
some  of  the  most  cruel  features  of  the  night's 
performances. 

Pavel  Chorvat  as  the  mechanician  was 
present,  and  Rudolph  the  lame  boy  was 


o8  Uncle  'Joe's  Lincoln 

X  */ 

given  the  opportunity  to  redeem  himself  by 
showing  especial  bravery  in  undertaking  the 
most  risky  part  of  the  enterprise.  Cannon- 
ball  was  not  invited  to  come,  for  he  was  too 
fat  to  squeeze  through  the  secret  passage. 

We  walked  up  the  concealed  stairway 
noiselessly,  having  left  our  shoes  at  home, 
and  each  of  us  went  to  our  appointed  post 
while  the  Foe  Ispan  was  regaled  with  meat 
and  drink,  and  long  after-dinner  speeches. 
Through  the  secret  opening  in  the  book- 
shelves we  crept  into  his  room.  Rudolph 
was  helped  into  the  suit  of  armor  and  shown 
how  to  manipulate  the  wires,  by  which  the 
head  could  be  turned  at  will,  and  the  hands 
lifted.  We  had  tried  to  make  it  walk,  but 
that  is  something  no  automaton  has  ever 
been  able  to  do,  and  we  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  these  meagre  achievements. 

Back  of  the  book-shelves  we  had  arranged 
sheets  of  tin,  hammers,  bells,  and  a  very 
interesting  toy  which  makes  an  annoying 
racket.  It  is  not  unknown  as  an  instrument 
of  torture  in  the  hands  of  American  young- 
sters of  the  present  day.  Removing  a  few 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight  99 

books  from  the  shelves,  gave  us  a  chance  to 
watch  what  was  going  on  in  the  room  and 
be  ready  for  flight  if  things  should  not  go  as 
we  had  planned. 

The  maid  came  in  to  turn  back  the 
sheets  and  arrange  the  heavy  feather  beds 
under  which  his  Highness  was  to  slumber, 
but  didn't.  She  extinguished  the  lamp  and 
lighted  a  candle  which  served  our  purpose 
admirably.  We  managed  to  keep  quiet 
while  she  was  in  the  room,  although  if  she 
heard  any  noise  she  might  have  thought 
that  it  was  rats,  which  are  rather  partial  to 
castles.  Yanczy  Pal  had  provided  some 
coffee  to  keep  us  awake  during  our  vigil, 
but  once  I  thought  that  Rudolph  had  gone 
to  sleep  within  the  armored  knight.  I  crept 
into  the  room  and  poked  his  steel  ribs, 
frightening  him  badly. 

It  was  long  after  eleven  o'clock  when  his 
Highness,  the  Foe  fsfian,  appeared.  Evi- 
dently the  red  wine  he  had  been  drinking 
had  put  him  in  good  humor,  for  he  came  in 
smiling,  rubbing  his  hands  and  cracking  his 
knuckles.  He  was  none  too  steady  on  his 


ioo  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

feet,  and  as  he  approached  the  knight  we 
were  fearful  that  he  might  collide  with  him. 
Fortunately  he  managed  to  steer  clear  of 
him,  but  he  stopped  in  front  of  him  and 
winked,  and  we  heard  him  say  :  "  Well,  old 
man,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  Then  he 
laughed  as  if  pleased  by  his  joke. 

We  heard  him  groan  as  he  stooped  to  pull 
off  his  boots.  Evidently  it  was  a  long  and 
hard  job  ;  for  he  groaned  as  if  he  were  in 
great  pain.  This  gave  Rudolph  the  oppor- 
tunity to  manipulate  his  wires.  The  hands 
of  the  knight,  which  were  in  repose  when  the 
Foe  Ispan  entered  the  room,  were  now  point- 
ing at  him.  When  he  lifted  his  head  after  the 
shoes  were  off  and  saw  the  changed  position 
of  the  hands  he  cried  :  "  Basama  Teremtete!" 
which,  as  my  readers  know,  is  unprintable 
in  English.  Then  he  picked  up  a  shoe  and 
threw  it  at  the  knight  who  quickly  turned  his 
head  and  lifted  his  mailed  fist  threateningly. 
When  the  Foe  Ispan  saw  that,  he  yelled  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  and  dived  under  his 
feather  bed,  covering  himself  as  much  as 
he  could,  no  doubt  with  the  determina- 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight         101 

tion  not  to  drink  so  much  red  wine  the  next 
time. 

We  gave  him  time  to  compose  his  badly 
shaken  nerves,  and  then  methodically  we 
turned  the  rattle  just  half  a  turn  at  a  time. 
He  sat  up,  relighted  the  candle,  looked  under 
the  bed,  listened  at  the  door  which  led  into 
the  next  room,  then  blew  out  the  candle  and 
went  to  bed  again.  We  gave  him  a  few 
minutes  more,  and  Pavel  Chorvat  began 
striking  the  tin  plate  with  a  hammer  at  reg- 
ular intervals  until  the  fatal  twelfth  stroke 
sounded. 

Then  the  Foe  Ispan  jumped  out  of  bed. 
He  did  not  take  time  to  light  the  candle.  In 
the  dark  he  grabbed  what  clothes  he  could, 
but  did  not  stop  to  put  them  on.  He  rushed 
for  the  door  which  he  could  not  find,  for  we 
heard  him  feeling  around  the  wall.  The  next 
moment  the  worst  that  could  have  happened 
to  him  occurred ;  he  collided  with  the  armored 
knight,  and  Rudolph  let  loose  an  unearthly 
yell.  At  that  instant  the  Foe  Ispan  found 
the  door,  made  for  the  stairway,  which  was 
nearer  than  he  thought,  and  we  heard  his 


IO2  Uncle  jfoe's  Lincoln 

rotund  figure  strike  every  step  as  he  fell  to 
the  bottom. 

Needless  to  say  we  did  not  stay  where  we 
were.  We  quickly  liberated  Rudolph,  picked 
up  our  paraphernalia  and  hurried  back  to  our 
beds. 

"  The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men 
gang  aft  aglee,"  and  so  did  ours ;  for  instead 
of  delivering  the  town  from  the  oppressor, 
he  stayed  for  a  week,  much  to  the  dismay  of 
Yanczy  Pal's  parents.  He  had  to  remain  in 
bed,  but  refused  to  occupy  the  State  room,  so 
another  had  to  be  prepared,  and  he  was 
under  the  care  of  the  doctor,  who  dosed  him 
for  his  shattered  nerves  and  plastered  up  his 
bruises. 

All  sorts  of  rumors  were  current  in  the 
town.  Some  said  he  drank  so  much  that  he 
was  on  the  verge  of  delirium  tremens  ;  others 
believed  that  the  devil  came  to  fetch  him, 
and  said  they  smelled  sulphur  in  his  room. 
That  was  true,  for  we  had  used  a  good  many 
old-fashioned  sulphur  matches.  For  a  long 
time  the  castle  had  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted.  There  were  a  few  wise  ones  who 


A  Tyrant  Put  to  Flight         103 

knew  just  what  kind  of  imps  were  after  the 
Foe  Ispan.  Fortunately  for  us  they  were  the 
Slovaks,  who  hated  the  new  order  of  things, 
and  were  not  sorry  that  we  had  been  in  such 
ghostly  mischief.  We  did  not  know  that 
our  secret  was  not  our  own,  until  we  had 
said  good-bye  to  his  Highness. 

He  was  leaving  without  pomp  and  cere- 
mony. The  army,  however,  was  there  to  say 
good-bye  to  him.  As  his  carriage  began  to 
move  we  cried  :  "Ely en  !  Elyen  !  "  and  he 
opened  his  purse  and  threw  us  some  coppers. 
Money  in  the  hands  of  boys  was  rather 
scarce,  so  although  it  came  from  our  enemy, 
we  picked  the  pennies  out  of  the  dust  and 
made  for  the  grocery  store,  kept  by  a  very 
interesting  old  man  who  was  called  the 
"  King  of  the  Slovaks,"  because  he  was  their 
last  descendant  and  an  ardent  defender  of 
his  people's  rights.  His  name  was  Svatopluk 
Holub,  after  the  last  Slovak  king.  He  sold 
two  kinds  of  candy  :  stick  candy  of  uncertain 
age,  and  candy  whistles  which  were  our  favor- 
ite confection,  because  we  could  blow  them 
and  suck  them  at  the  same  time ;  music  and 


104  Uncle  jf roe 's  Lincoln 

sweetness  both  for  a  penny.  We  invested  in 
a  whistle  apiece.  As  we  passed  our  pennies 
to  the  old  man,  he  took  me  by  my  curly  hair 
and  shook  me,  saying  with  a  faded  smile 
playing  upon  his  sad  and  wrinkled  face:  "Ve 
ste  velke  Hunczuty."  "  You  are  great  ras- 
cals. Keep  your  money,  and  come  to  see 
me  soon  again." 

We  kept  the  money  and  went  to  see  him 
soon  again,  and  so  learned  to  know  of  the 
sorrows  and  burdens  of  the  "  King  of  the 
Slovaks,"  who  was  a  particular  friend  of 
Uncle  Joe. 


VII 

The  "King  of  the  Slovaks"  Enters  into 
His  Rest  and  Uncle  Joe  Rmgs  the 
Church  Bells 

UNCLE  JOE  had  travelled  farther  than 
anybody  in  our  town  not  only  in 
miles  but  also  in  his  thought.  He 
had  no  sympathy  with  the  racial  and  relig- 
ious quarrels  of  our  community.  "  Yingele" 
he  used  to  say,  "a  man  is  a  nigger  only 
when  he  is  black  in  his  heart,  and  before 
God  a  half  naked  Gypsy  is  as  good  as  a 
proud  Magyar  in  red  breeches.  Only  God 
the  Almighty  could  make  a  man ;  but  even 
our  deaf  and  dumb  tailor  can  make  a  man's 
clothes.  It  does  not  matter  about  a  man's 
creed  or  his  language ;  the  question  is,  how 
does  he  live  and  what  does  he  say  ?  " 

A  man  with  such  ideas  was  regarded  as 
somewhat  of  a  revolutionist,  and  but  few 
people  could  understand  him  and  fewer  sym- 
pathized with  him  ;  that  may  be  the  reason 
105 


106  Uncle  jfoe's  Lincoln 

he  lived  so  much  with  children.  Since  he 
had  remained  sober  and  was  saving  his 
money,  he  had  still  fewer  friends.  He  had 
one  crony,  and  that  was  the  "King  of  the 
Slovaks."  Whenever  I  had  to  look  for  Uncle 
Joe  I  would  go  to  the  grocery  store,  and  if  I 
found  him  he  would  give  me  a  piece  of 
herring,  a  delicacy  to  which  he  became 
addicted  when  he  stopped  drinking,  and 
which  I  accepted  not  because  I  liked  her- 
ring, but  because  after  having  eaten  it  I 
needed  something  to  sweeten  my  mouth. 

The  eating  of  the  herring  was  quite  a 
ceremonious  affair.  The  "  King  of  the 
Slovaks "  served  it  on  a  piece  of  brown 
paper;  then  Uncle  Joe  would  take  his  pen- 
knife, scale  the  fish  and,  while  I  held  it  by 
the  tail,  beat  it  thoroughly  on  both  sides 
with  the  handle  of  the  knife,  singing,  as  he 
did  so,  a  little  song  which  was  used  when  he 
was  a  boy  and  which  had  survived  until  my 
own  day.  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary, 
it  may  still  be  used  in  making  salt  herring 
ready  for  the  skinning.  This  is  the  first 
verse : 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      1 07 

"  Little  fishes  when  they're  caught 
They  are  really  good  for  nought 
But  to  scale  them,  and  to  beat, 
Skin  them,  then  they're  good  to  eat.'1 

The  second  and  third  verses  were  just  like 
the  first. 

In  the  same  ceremonious  way,  after  being 
skinned,  and  halved,  the  air  bladder,  which 
was  called  the  soul  of  the  fish,  would  be  sent 
to  heaven ;  that  is,  it  was  thrown  to  the  ceiling, 
and  if  it  stuck  there  the  soul  was  safe,  but 
if  it  didn't,  and  fell  to  the  floor,  it  was  utterly 
lost.  It  must  be  said  that  as  Uncle  Joe  had 
served  in  the  army,  his  aim  was  good,  and 
all  his  herring  were  good  herring. 

The  two  men  were  great  talkers,  Uncle 
Joe  easily  outdoing  the  grocer,  and  while 
the  two  men  talked,  I  would  suck  my  candy. 
I  noticed  that  at  such  a  time  I  was  never  given 
a  candy  whistle,  but  a  stick  of  candy  ;  for  had 
I  received  a  whistle,  the  temptation  to  use  it 
would  have  been  irresistible,  and  I  should 
have  disturbed  their  interesting  conversation. 

When  Uncle  Joe  was  not  talking  about 
the  Civil  War,  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  the 


io8  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Negroes  whom  he  helped  to  free,  Svatopluk 
Holub  would  talk  about  his  royal  ancestors, 
the  Slovaks,  and  their  struggle  to  retain  their 
language  and  customs.  They  were  rarely 
interrupted  in  their  conversation,  for  custom- 
ers were  few,  and  when  they  came  they  had 
to  wait  the  "  King's "  pleasure  before  he 
would  hand  them  the  two  cents'  worth  of 
sugar  they  wished  to  buy. 

Usually  Uncle  Joe  made  a  round  of  visits 
on  Saturday  afternoon.  That  was  his  re- 
ligious exercise ;  for  his  visits  were  always 
among  the  poor  and  the  lonely.  His  round 
was  always  the  same.  He  began  with  an 
old  couple,  one  of  which,  the  man,  was  dying 
from  cancer.  I  never  wanted  to  go  in  there 
with  him,  but  he  would  take  me  by  the  back 
of  my  neck  and  say :  "  You  have  been  to  the 
synagogue  and  have  prayed  and  have  eaten 
a  piece  of  fat  Sabbath  goose ;  now  come  in 
and  get  some  more  religion." 

Then  there  was  an  old  widow,  who  had 

been  rich  and  now  lived  upon  charity.    She 

was  a  dear,  dried-up  little  lady,  immaculately 

.neat,  and  I  loved  to  go  to  see  her.     Uncle 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      1 09 

Joe  would  sit  by  her  side  and  hold  her  hand 
as  he  told  her  about  his  adventures  in  the 
New  World.  I  noticed  that  he  always  told 
her  about  the  ladies  he  had  courted  and  those 
who  had  courted  him,  and  she  would  shake  her 
skinny  finger  at  him  and  say :  " '  As  the  twig 
is  bent  so  is  the  tree  inclined ' ;  you  were  a 
charmer  before  you  went  to  America.  You 
proposed  to  me  when  you  were  fourteen  years 
old."  "  Too  bad  you  didn't  take  me,"  he 
would  tell  her,  "  then  I  would  still  have  my 
leg  and  arm." 

There  were  half  a  dozen  places  we  visited, 
but  invariably  he  would  end  at  Svatopluk 
Holub's  who  always  had  the  same  greeting : 
"  Come  in,"  he  would  say ;  "  let  us  eat  a  her- 
ring and  save  its  soul."  On  Sunday  after- 
noons when  the  grocery  store  was  closed  to 
the  public,  Uncle  Joe  would  drop  in  for  a  cup 
of  tea.  It  was  brewed  from  the  blossom  of 
the  linden  tree  and  was  horribly  bitter  tast- 
ing stuff,  but  I  always  took  as  many  cups  as 
I  could  get ;  for  with  each  cup  there  was  a 
piece  of  rock  candy  which  lasted  long  after 
the  bitter  taste  of  the  tea  had  disappeared. 


1 1  o  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

The  "  King,"  like  Uncle  Joe,  was  an  old 
bachelor.  There  was  a  story  of  his  having 
fallen  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the  Baron, 
and  that  she  loved  him ;  but  not  only  was  he 
poor — he  was  a  Slovak  patriot,  and  her  father 
was  a  Magyar  and  would  not  hear  of  their 
marriage ;  so  she  had  entered  a  nunnery.  He 
always  wore  the  picturesque  costume  of  his 
people.  He  not  only  dressed  like  a  Slovak, 
he  also  looked  like  one.  The  Magyars  wore 
mustachios,  the  fiercer  and  longer  they  were, 
the  more  one  was  a  Magyar;  he  was 
smoothly  shaved. 

The  special  characteristic  of  his  dress  was 
the  shirt,  which  was  a  sort  of  badge  of  de- 
fiance. He  was  one  of  the  few  men  among 
the  educated  class  who  wore  it,  and  it  became 
the  symbol  of  his  loyalty.  The  shirt,  which 
was  gaily  embroidered,  had  no  collar,  but- 
toned on  the  side  and  was  not  tucked  in  at 
the  waist.  He  wore  that  kind  of  shirt,  though 
because  of  it  he  lost  one  customer  after 
another,  and  when  he  was  summoned  before 
the  judge  and  had  it  taken  from  him,  the 
next  day  or  week  or  as  soon  as  he  could  pro- 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks"      1 1 1 

cure  such  a  shirt  again,  he  defied  the  authori- 
ties by  wearing  it. 

Our  army  had  split  in  two ;  it  was  pro- 
shirt  and  anti-shirt.  Yanczy  Pal  led  the 
anti-shirt  or  Magyar  party,  and  he  had  the 
majority  of  the  boys  on  his  side.  The  pro- 
shirt  party  was  led  by  Pavel  Chorvat,  who 
was  the  strongest  of  us,  and  in  our  frequent 
fights  we  usually  won,  though  Pavel  did  most 
of  the  beating.  The  pro-shirt  army  had  its 
headquarters  at  the  "  King's "  store,  while 
Yanczy  Pal  and  his  set  met  in  the  Hussite 
tree.  Military  enterprises  gradually  grew  out 
of  the  reach  of  our  group,  not  only  because 
we  were  few,  but  because  the  "  powers  that 
be  "  were  against  us ;  so  we  decided  to  avenge 
ourselves  and  write  a  book.  May  I  say  in 
all  modesty  that  the  idea  was  mine,  and  that 
Pavel  Chorvat  opposed  it  as  outside  the  prov- 
ince of  an  army ;  but  when  I  told  him  that  we 
would  write  a  book  about  the  Slovaks,  some- 
thing to  stir  the  world  to  the  wrongs  they  suf- 
fered, he  gave  his  permission,  though  he  was 
of  very  little  use. 

I  was  not  discouraged  in  my  undertaking 


1 1 2  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

by  the  fact  that  I  had  read  in  the  Bible  during 
my  lessons  in  religion  that  "  of  the  making 
of  books  there  is  no  end" ;  though  I  agreed 
with  the  writer  that  "much  learning  is  a 
weariness  to  the  flesh,"  especially  the  learn- 
ing which  came  to  us  in  a  new  language 
and  turned  our  little  world  upside  down. 

I  was  soundly  whipped  for  saying  that 
Abraham  Lincoln  was  a  greater  man  than 
Stephen  the  First,  King  of  the  Hungarians, 
who  was  indeed  a  good  king  as  kings  go ; 
but  how  could  he  have  been  better  than 
Abraham  Lincoln?  Pavel  Chorvat  was  not 
only  beaten  but  locked  up  in  the  school- 
master's cellar  for  saying  that  Svatopluk 
Holub  was  the  King  of  the  Slovaks.  We 
began  writing  the  book  as  a  revenge  upon 
the  unjust  government,  and  we  relied  upon 
Svatopluk  Holub  to  furnish  us  the  facts.  We 
were  sure  of  the  facts ;  where  the  paper,  the 
printing  press,  and  the  money  were  to  come 
from  we  did  not  know,  or  care.  The  story, 
as  we  gathered  it  and  never  wrote,  was  some- 
thing like  this.  I  cannot  vouch  that  it  is  ex- 
actly as  he  told  it  to  us,  for  we  wrote  our 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      113 

notes  on  pieces  of  brown  paper  and  very  fre- 
quently Uncle  Joe  would  beat  his  herring  on 
them  ;  so  making  them  odorous  and  useless. 

The  "King"  looked  every  inch  a  King 
when  he  told  us  the  meaning  of  the  word 
Slav.  "It  may  come  from  the  word  Slava 
which  means  fame,  or  from  Slovo  which 
means  to  speak."  He  thought  it  was  the 
latter  because  they  called  the  other  people, 
especially  the  Germans,  "  Nemczy"  which 
means  the  dumb,  or  those  who  cannot  speak. 
Uncle  Joe  agreed  that  it  was  the  latter,  for 
that  is  usual  with  people  who  do  not  under- 
stand one  another. 

"  They  are  of  great  antiquity,"  Svatopluk 
told  us,  "and  occupied  all  the  region  in 
Europe  from  the  North  Sea  down  to  the 
Black  Sea.  They  were  not  warriors  but 
hunters,  and  then  they  became  farmers,  and 
have  never  ceased  to  love  the  soil."  He 
insisted  that  the  Slavs  invented  all  agricul- 
tural implements,  and  tried  to  prove  it  by 
the  fact  that  the  word  for  plough  in  all  the 
languages  is  from  the  Slavic.  Uncle  Joe  re- 
torted that  the  Americans  invented  every- 


114  Uncle  jfoe's  Lincoln 

thing,  and  there  was  a  lively  squabble  be- 
tween them.  The  "King"  argued  that  our 
word  plough  came  from  the  Slavic  pluck  and 
Uncle  Joe  was  equally  sure  that  plough  was 
used  long  before  pluck. 

"The  warlike  nations,"  the  "King"  con- 
tinued, when  Uncle  Joe  would  let  him,  "  drove 
the  Slavs  from  the  land  they  possessed,  con- 
quered them  and  tried  to  make  Germans 
out  of  them.  Then  the  Turks  came  in  vast 
hordes  out  of  Asia,  devastated  their  towns 
and  villages,  and  carried  their  wives  and 
daughters  away  into  their  harems.  Then  the 
Magyars  came  and  they  were  the  worst  of 
all,"  and  again  there  was  a  lively  clash  be- 
tween him  and  Uncle  Joe,  who  could  not 
think  of  any  one  worse  than  the  Turks. 

"The  trouble  with  you  Slavs,"  Uncle  Joe 
said,  "is  that  you  need  an  Abraham  Lin- 
coln and  the  Union,  and  not  till  you  have 
them  will  you  amount  to  anything  in  the 
world."  Uncle  Joe's  panacea  for  everything 
was  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Union. 

"  You  little  Slovaks,  what  do  you  amount 
to  ? "  he  said  contemptuously ;  "  but  if  all 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      115 

you  Slavic  nationalities  were  united,  you 
could  drive  the  Magyars  back  to  Asia  where 
they  came  from." 

He  did  not  say  that  very  loud,  for  it  was 
treason  and  would  have  got  him  into  trouble. 
I  had  written  several  pages  of  notes,  when 
Uncle  Joe  took  them  from  me,  and  said, 
"That  will  make  a  fine  bed  for  my  dying 
herring.  Bring  us  a  fat  one,  a  milt  one;" 
so  a  herring  was  skinned  and  its  soul  sent  to 
heaven  on  my  literary  effort. 

I  think  it  was  Ascension  Day  when  I  visited 
the  "  King  "  alone.  I  was  puzzled  even  then 
by  the  religious  differences  which  divided 
our  community,  and  he  told  me  just  how  the 
Christian  religion  came  to  his  people.  "  They 
were  once  heathens,  even  as  every  one's  an- 
cestors were,  and  their  religion  was  very  bar- 
baric, and  cruel.  It  left  the  people  ignorant 
and  degraded,  and  one  of  my  kingly  an- 
cestors sent  emissaries  to  the  Greek  King 
who  was  ruling  his  world  from  Constanti- 
nople, asking  him  to  send  among  the  Slavic 
people  missionaries  who  spoke  their  language 
and  could  preach  to  them.  Prior  to  that 


1 1 6  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

time  some  missionaries  had  come  from  Ger- 
many. They  were  pious  and  good  men,  but 
not  being  able  to  speak  Slavic,  the  people 
were  suspicious  of  them  because  the  German 
kings  were  their  enemies.  King  Michael 
then  sent  them  two  consecrated  monks,  who 
came  into  this  very  region  where  we  are 
living."  That,  of  course,  excited  me  very 
much,  for  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
our  place  was  of  historic  importance. 

"  Their  lives  were  so  Christlike  that  it  did 
not  take  them  very  long  to  spread  their  faith 
and  their  memory  has  never  faded  from  the 
minds  of  the  grateful  Slavs.  The  names  of 
these  missionaries  were  Cyril  and  Methodius, 
and  the  alphabet,  which  they  invented  and 
which  many  of  the  Slavic  people  use,  is 
called  the  Cyrillian  alphabet." 

While  I  retained  some  of  the  historic  facts 
he  told  me,  and  learning  so  much  about 
these  people  later  helped  me  to  remember, 
I  have  forgotten  the  best  things,  the  snatches 
of  song  and  the  folk  tales.  There  is  one 
story,  however,  which  I  remember,  because  I 
tried  to  make  a  really  great  story  out  of  it 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      117 

later  in  life  and  failed  ;  but  I  shall  write  it 
down  in  the  simple  way  in  which  he  told  it, 
which  may  after  all  be  the  best  way. 

"THE  MAGIC  VIOLIN 
"  A  dear  old  grandfather  lived  with  his 
young  grandson  in  a  village,  and  feeling  his 
end  approaching,  bequeathed  him  his  violin. 
From  the  birds  the  lad  learned  his  songs,  and 
as  he  mourned  for  his  grandfather,  he  played 
plaintively  on  his  instrument.  Many  years 
passed  and  the  youth  went  to  the  village 
dances  to  play.  In  one  place  he  met  a  most 
beautiful  maiden  whose  name  no  one  knew, 
nor  did  any  one  know  whence  she  came. 
After  the  dance  she  always  disappeared  in 
the  forest.  He  fell  in  love  with  her  and  she 
loved  him. 

"  A  very  wicked  woman,  who  was  the  per- 
sonification of  envy,  told  the  other  girls,  who 
were  jealous  of  the  beautiful  stranger,  to  scat- 
ter the  white  fluffy  seed  pods  of  dandelions 
on  the  floor,  and  if  she  were  a  wood  fairy,  as 
they  thought,  her  clothes  would  catch  fire. 
"  When  the  maiden  came  out  of  the  forest 


1 1 8  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

to  the  dance,  she  noticed  the  seed  pods  and 
disappeared,  to  the  grief  of  her  lover,  who 
nearly  died  from  his  great  sorrow.  When  he 
recovered  he  took  his  violin  and  went  out 
into  the  world  to  seek,  her.  Everywhere  at 
the  edge  of  the  forests  he  played,  wandering 
among  the  trees  day  and  night,  calling  for  his 
beloved. 

"  One  day  in  the  spring  when  all  the  flow- 
ers were  in  bloom,  he  was  playing  on  a  rock 
at  the  edge  of  a  beautiful  lake.  He  was  put- 
ting all  his  heartache  into  his  music  so  that 
the  very  trees  began  to  sigh  and  the  flowers 
wept  sweet-scented  tears.  Suddenly  the 
maiden  appeared  to  him.  His  joy  knew  no 
bounds,  and  he  would  not  let  her  go  again. 
She  told  him  that  she  had  been  stolen  from 
her  parents'  home  while  she  was  a  little  baby 
in  her  cradle,  and  that  she  was  cursed  to  be  a 
wood  fairy  for  a  hundred  years  or  until  some 
youth  through  ardent  love  would  release  her 
from  the  curse  by  his  music.  This  he  had 
done  and  she  was  free  to  marry  him. 

"  He  was  overjoyed,  but  before  they  were 
married  he  had  to  promise  her  that  he  would 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      119 

never  be  rude  to  her  nor  beat  her  as  the 
Slovak  husbands  often  beat  their  wives  ;  for 
even  if  he  should  strike  her  with  the  stems 
of  flowers,  the  curse  would  come  back  and 
she  would  have  to  live  out  her  hundred  years 
in  the  forest.  This  he  promised  and  was  a 
very  tender  and  loving  husband.  They  pros- 
pered and  were  growing  very  rich. 

"  One  time  when  he  was  away  on  business, 
she  told  the  hired  man  to  go  out  into  the 
fields  and  cut  the  rye  and  bring  it  into  the 
barn.  When  her  husband  returned  he 
thought  she  had  done  wrong  and  began  to 
scold  her.  In  his  anger  he  took  a  handful 
of  the  grain,  and  slapped  her  hands.  She 
wept  bitterly  and  told  him  that  if  he  had 
been  patient  with  her  one  more  day,  the 
curse  would  have  been  removed  forever ;  but 
now  she  must  go  back  into  the  forest  for  a 
hundred  years.  She  disappeared,  leaving 
the  heart-broken  man  alone  on  the  farm. 
The  next  day  it  stormed  and  hailed  and 
every  one's  harvest  but  his  was  ruined. 
Then  he  realized  that  his  wife  was  right  in 
having  the  grain  brought  into  the  barn. 


1 20  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

That  winter  the  neighbors  were  starving,  and 
being  jealous  because  he  remained  rich,  they 
set  fire  to  his  barn,  and  he  had  to  flee  for  his 
life.  All  he  saved  of  his  possessions  was  the 
precious  violin,  and  he  went  out  into  the 
world  again  to  seek  his  wife. 

"  On  the  same  rock  on  the  shore  where  he 
had  wooed  her,  she  appeared  to  him  in  a 
dream  and  told  him  that  she  could  not  return 
to  him  again.  She  touched  the  violin  with 
her  fairy  fingers,  and  out  of  her  hair  made 
new  strings  for  his  bow.  She  kissed  his  fore- 
head, and  told  him  to  go  out  into  the  world 
and  make  the  people  happy  with  his  music. 
Wherever  he  went  he  charmed  and  entranced 
his  hearers,  for  his  music  was  not  like  that  of 
mortals  but  like  the  music  of  heaven.  He 
grew  famous  and  rich  but  he  never  returned 
to  his  home,  and  never  was  happy,  for  he 
was  still  seeking  his  lost  wife.  One  day  he 
was  found  in  the  shadow  of  the  same  rock 
where  she  had  come  to  him.  The  violin  was 
clasped  close  to  his  heart,  and  on  his  face 
shone  a  beautiful,  peaceful  smile  which  did 
not  fade  away — he  was  dead ! " 


The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "      121 

Every  time  I  hear  a  really  great  violinist, 
especially  if  he  is  of  the  Slavic  race,  and  so 
many  of  them  are,  I  think  of  this  touching 
story  which,  though  it  is  only  a  fairy  story, 
reveals  the  genius  and  also  some  of  the  weak- 
nesses of  these  great  people. 

The  "  King  of  the  Slovaks "  looked  less 
kingly  as  time  passed.  He  was  wretch- 
edly poor,  and  the  edibles  in  his  store  were 
growing  old  and  stale.  Even  his  herring  be- 
came uneatable.  "  Their  souls  have  turned 
black,"  Uncle  Joe  said,  "and  when  a  her- 
ring's soul  turns  black  it  is  fit  neither  for 
heaven  nor  for  hell."  Although  the  "  King  " 
was  poor  and  ill,  his  shirt  was  always  im- 
maculate and  always  defiantly  Slavic. 

One  day  as  I  went  to  school  I  noticed  that 
the  door  of  his  store  was  locked.  I  raised 
the  alarm.  Pavel  Chorvat  lifted  me  up  to 
the  window  and  when  I  knocked  repeatedly 
and  there  was  no  answer,  he  went  home  and 
brought  his  father,  who  opened  the  door,  and 
we  found  the  "  King  of  the  Slovaks  "  dead  in 
his  bed,  and  the  room  full  of  charcoal  fumes. 

No  one  knew  just  how  he  died,  but  the 


122  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Kisbiro  who  acted  as  coroner  said  that  he 
died  by  his  own  hand.  None  of  us  would 
believe  it,  although  the  church  authorities 
did ;  for  he  was  denied  a  public  funeral,  the 
bells  were  not  to  ring  for  him,  and  he  was  to 
be  buried  in  unconsecrated  ground.  How- 
ever there  was  a  funeral  procession,  though 
there  were  neither  acolytes  nor  holy  water. 

All  the  faithful  Slovaks,  dressed  in  their 
national  garb,  followed  the  plain,  unpainted 
casket,  and  when  they  reached  the  corner  of 
the  Kunovska  Ulitza  they  heard  the  church 
bells  ring.  They  rang  irregularly  and  dis- 
cordantly, for  they  were  being  rung  by  three 
hands  unused  to  such  a  task.  One  of  the 
hands  was  Uncle  Joe's  and  the  other  two 
were  mine.  Uncle  Joe  paid  a  heavy  fine, 
more  than  half  his  monthly  pension  money, 
and  as  he  gave  it  to  the  Kisbiro,  he  said 
something  which  neither  he  nor  I  understood. 
It  sounded  like  Basama  Teremtete,  only  there 
was  more  of  it,  and  I  knew  the  words  were 
English  ;  for  it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
used  them  in  my  presence. 


VIII 

The  Marvellous,  Magical,  Mechanical 
Theater  Presents  the  Civil  War,  and 
Uncle  Joe  Suffers  Defeat  and  Wins 
a  Victory 

I  AM  glad  I  lived  at  a  time  when  wonders 
never  ceased,  when  even  the  common- 
place thrilled  me,  and  the  unusual  was  a 
miracle.  A  wandering  troup  of  bayazos  (jug- 
glers and  tumblers),  in  tights  and  velvet 
breeches,  seemed  like  a  chapter  from  a  fairy 
tale ;  and  when  I  saw  a  toy  balloon  which 
Yanczy  Pal  had — for  he  had  everything — it 
excited  me  more  than  when,  a  few  years  ago, 
Billy  Robinson  flew  over  our  American  home 
in  a  flying  machine  which  he  had  built. 

The  railroad  was  a  day's  journey  from  us ; 
I   knew  of  the  telegraph,  but  had  not  yet 
heard  its  ticking.     Once  my  teacher  demon- 
strated an  electric  battery  which  rang  a  bell, 
123 


124  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

and  I  nearly  lost  my  faith  in  the  Almighty. ; 
for  what  was  there  left  for  Him  to  do,  if  some 
acids  could  create  energy  ? 

Most  of  Uncle  Joe's  wonder  stories  about 
America  I  took  with  a  grain  of  salt ;  but  when 
he  tried  to  describe  Barnum's  circus,  I  reluc- 
tantly put  him  down  as  a  liar. 

I  know  my  boy  would  not  exchange  his 
youth  for  mine,  and  why  should  he?  The 
world  moves  by  him  on  the  screen ;  at  the 
turn  of  a  crank  he  hears  his  favorite  Jazz 
band  (horror  of  horrors  to  me) ;  and  he  can 
play  the  piano  by  stepping  on  it,  though  he 
may  not  know  one  note  from  the  other ;  but 
I  am  wondering  whether  he  ever  had  such  a 
thrill  as  I  experienced  when  I  read  on  a  poster 
pasted  on  a  corner  house  of  the  Kimovska 
Ulitza  that  "  Madame  Breshkovska's  Mar- 
vellous, Magical,  Mechanical  Theater"  would 
favor  our  town  with  a  visit  and  give  daily 
exhibitions  of  its  wonders.  Posters  were  not 
uncommon  on  that  particular  corner,  but 
they  were  usually  small  and  very  prosaic, 
announcing  when  the  medical  officers  would 
come  to  examine  men  for  the  army,  or  when 


T/ie  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  125 

the  taxes  were  due,  or  when  everybody  had 
to  appear  before  the  doctor  to  be  vacci- 
nated. 

These  posters  were  huge  in  comparison, 
and  were  colored,  and  there  were  pictures 
which  were  meant  to  whet  our  unsatisfied 
appetites — and  they  did.  There  were  adjec- 
tives in  the  reading  matter  such  as  I  never 
knew  any  language  could  possess.  "  Gigan- 
tic, marvellous,  wonderful,  stupendous,  spec- 
tacular, amazing"  were  a  few  of  them.  Of 
course  if  I  had  ever  seen  an  American  circus 
poster,  those  words  would  have  seemed  tame, 
and  one  of  the  thrills  would  have  been  miss- 
ing out  of  my  life.  Besides  these  adjectives 
there  were  other  words  whose  meaning  we 
could  but  vaguely  guess — "  kaleidoscopic, 
bengalic  lights,  stereopticon,  amphitheater, 
and  the  hanging  gardens  of  Semiramis." 

I  am  not  exaggerating  when  I  say  that  I 
spent  hours  reading  and  rereading  the 
poster,  and  my  poor  brain  was  dizzy  from  the 
whirl  of  the  anticipated  wonders.  Even 
Uncle  Joe  was  wildly  excited,  for  one  para- 
graph on  the  poster  promised  in  eloquent 


126  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

language,  "pictures  from  the  Great  Amer- 
ican War,"  and  the  battles  were  to  be  fought 
on  the  stage  by  soldiers  "  mechanically  agi- 
tated, but  true  to  life." 

One  morning  as  I  went  to  school,  the 
Rinok  (the  town  square  on  which  all  streets 
meet)  wore  a  new  aspect.  Madame  Bresh- 
kovska's  "marvellous,  magical,  mechanical 
theater"  had  arrived,  and  the  world  was  not 
quite  the  same.  Four  gaudily  painted  wagons 
of  the  circus  type  were  lined  up  between 
St.  Florian  and  St.  Michael.  Children  of  all 
ages  stood  around  with  mouths  agape,  and 
stayed  there  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
school  bells  were  ringing,  and  dire  punish- 
ment awaited  the  tardy  ones.  One  of  the 
wagons  was  especially  attractive.  The  cher- 
ubim and  seraphim  which  guarded  the  Holy 
of  Holies  could  not  have  been  as  gorgeously 
attired  as  were  the  carved  figures  which 
adorned  its  four  corners.  On  one  side  was  a 
portico  shaded  by  an  awning  of  badly  faded 
cloth  of  gold,  and  over  the  door  which  led 
into  the  interior  was  written  that  which 
brought  us  both  hope  and  despair.  Allur- 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  127 

ing  descriptions  of  the  wonders  displayed 
within  were  printed  in  two  languages : 

"  An  education  without  going  to  school ; 
travel  without  going  out  of  town  ;  the  whole 
world  at  your  feet  for  a  trifle ;  the  treasures 
of  the  universe  for  a  look !  "  That  was  hope. 

"  Admission  first  class,  one  florin ;  second 
class,  fifty  kreutzers ;  third  class,  in  the  gal- 
lery, thirty  kreutzers.  Soldiers,  and  children 
under  six,  half  price."  That  spelled  despair. 
A  florin  was  as  much  as  a  million  to  most  of 
us,  thirty  kreutzers  for  third  class  was  a  for- 
tune, and  all  of  us  were  considerably  over  six 
years  of  age. 

Yanczy  Pal  told  us  boastingly  that  he  was 
going  first  class,  and  none  of  us  believed 
it.  I  had  a  faint  hope  that  Uncle  Joe  would 
take  me  ;  but  Rudolph,  Speckled  Horse  and 
Cannonball  were  absolutely  hopeless  of  ever 
getting  "  an  education  without  going  to 
school,"  or  seeing  "  the  treasures  of  the  uni- 
verse." Armin  Griinwald,  our  erstwhile  cap- 
tain of  cavalry,  was  the  other  fortunate  one 
whom  the  gods  favored.  He  was  a  horse- 
man's son,  and  his  father  had  the  honor  of 


128  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

boarding  the  noble  steeds  which  drew  the 
"  marvellous,  magical,  mechanical  theater." 
Some  of  the  performers  were  to  share  that 
honor  with  the  horses. 

While  we  stood  before  the  wagon,  torn  be- 
tween hope  and  despair,  and  mostly  despair- 
ing, the  door  opened  and  a  woman  rolled 
into  view.  How  she  ever  managed  to  come 
through  that  door  I  do  not  know,  for  when 
she  emerged  she  filled  all  the  space  under 
the  awning,  and  the  cherubim  and  seraphim 
were  hidden  from  us.  Madame  Bresh- 
kovska,  for  it  was  she,  was  no  beauty  and 
yet  she  was  fascinating,  at  least  to  me ;  for 
she  was  indeed  a  new  species,  as  new  and 
strange  as  her  "  marvellous,  magical,  mechan- 
ical theater."  Her  nose  was  almost  lost  be- 
tween her  snapping  black  eyes  and  her  huge 
mouth,  which  looked  larger  by  virtue  of  a 
quite  unmistakable  mustache.  Her  square 
chin  was  adorned  by  a  beard.  She  addressed 
us  in  a  voice  whose  timbre  might  cause  a 
calliope  to  blush.  She  was  not  a  bit  compli- 
mentary. She  called  us  "loafers"  and  in- 
vited us  either  to  "  light  out  or  step  in  "  and 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  129 

have  a  share  in  getting  the  wonders  of  the 
world  ready  for  the  public.  No  second  invi- 
tation was  necessary  ;  school  or  no  school,  we 
entered  upon  our  tasks  with  an  ardor  never 
evoked  by  our  mothers'  invitations  to  fetch 
and  carry. 

Pavel  Chorvat,  being  the  strongest,  became 
assistant  to  the  tent  crew,  while  Cannonball 
was  to  join  the  orchestra  and  carry  the  big 
drum.  He  was  selected  for  this  task  because 
he  was  of  a  size  almost  to  fit  a  spare  uniform, 
and  how  we  envied  him!  Speckled  Horse 
and  Rudolph  were  to  be  stage  hands,  and  I, 
the  youngest  and  smallest,  was  selected  for 
the  most  humble  of  all  duties — I  was  to  peel 
potatoes.  The  boys  laughed  at  me  and  I 
had  a  good  notion  to  cut  and  run,  but  how 
glad  I  was  that  I  did  not  follow  my  first  im- 
pulse ;  for  my  position  made  me  a  member 
of  the  family.  I  peeled  potatoes  under  the 
supervision  of  Ludmilla,  my  first  fairy  queen, 
who  pulled  my  curly  hair  after  the  manner  of 
Uncle  Joe  ;  but  it  did  not  hurt.  She  awoke 
vanity  within  me  by  telling  me  that  so  pretty 
a  boy  as  I  ought  to  become  a  photographer, 


130  Uncle  Joe 's  Lincoln 

and  then  all  the  ladies  would  come  to  have 
their  pictures  taken,  and  I  would  become  a 
rich  man.  At  the  first  chance  I  looked  into 
a  mirror  and  thought  myself  as  beautiful  as 
the  cherubim  and  seraphim  ;  so  I  determined 
to  become  a  photographer. 

That  whole  day  was  as  different  from 
others  as  any  day  well  could  be ;  I  walked 
on  clouds  though  I  peeled  potatoes  for  hours ; 
for  this  I  was  soundly  spanked  when  I  came 
home  at  noon  with  my  clothes  wet  and 
spotted.  When  I  returned  to  school  my 
teacher  made  me  write  "  Go  to  the  ant,  thou 
sluggard "  five  hundred  times  for  playing 
truant  Evidently  he  and  Ludmilla  did  not 
agree  about  my  future. 

From  two  to  four  each  day  we  studied  re- 
ligion, and  never  before  was  my  mind  so 
little  on  my  lesson  as  that  day.  What  did  I 
care  for  the  wanderings  of  my  forefathers  in 
the  wilderness  and  the  voice  of  God  speaking 
from  Sinai,  when  the  "  marvellous,  magical, 
mechanical  tjieater"  was  to  throw  open  its 
portals  that  evening,  and  I  had  a  third  class 
ticket  in  my  pocket,  earned  by  peeling  pota- 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  131 

toes?  What  did  the  wise  man's  lament 
about  "  vanity,  all  is  vanity "  mean  to  me, 
when  I  still  felt  Ludmilla's  hand  upon  my 
curly  head  and  heard  her  voice  ringing  in  my 
ears,  saying  that  I  ought  to  be  a  photog- 
rapher, and  that  the  ladies  would  come  to 
me  to  have  their  pictures  taken  ? 

Time  went  at  a  snail's  pace,  and  the  pages 
of  the  Bible  seemed  endless ;  but  at  last  it 
was  four  o'clock,  the  lesson  in  religion  was 
over  and  I  was  on  the  Rinok,  the  transformed 
Rinok.  St.  Florian  was  almost  lost  beside 
the  gorgeous  tent  which  had  arisen  by  his 
side,  and  St.  Michael  was  invisible ;  in  fact 
he  was  inside  the  tent  and  had  a  chance  to 
see  the  wonders  of  the  world  for  nothing. 
At  the  main  entrance  stood  the  cherubim  and 
seraphim  and  beneath  the  awning  a  throne 
was  being  made  ready  for  the  queen,  who 
was  to  open  the  portals  to  the  wonders  of  the 
world  and  take  in  the  sheckels. 

None  of  my  friends  who  had  accepted 
positions  with  the  theater  had  come  to 
school  to  study  religion.  They  had  been 
completely  absorbed  by  their  tasks,  and 


132  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

were  helping  to  get  the  wonder  world  ready. 
The  crowd  surged  around  the  tent  and  long 
before  the  advertised  opening  hour  the  en- 
trance was  besieged  by  a  mob ;  somewhere 
in  its  midst  was  a  little  boy,  nearly  suffocated 
but  sublimely  happy,  and  that  little  boy 
was  I. 

At  last  the  band  appeared  above  the 
portico,  Cannonball  in  a  red  uniform  some- 
what too  small  for  him,  beating  the  drum 
with  all  his  might  without  regard  to  time  or 
rhythm.  I  had  never  before  seen  a  man 
blowing  a  horn  which  he  seemed  to  swallow 
and  bring  up  again,  and  Gabriel's  trumpet 
could  not  have  been  more  awe-inspiring. 
The  man  who  was  curled  up  inside  the  double 
base  horn  like  a  snail  in  its  shell  made  me 
laugh ;  I  thought  the  most  skillful  of  the 
musicians  was  the  one  who  beat  the  snare 
drum,  throwing  the  drumsticks  into  the  air 
and  catching  them  again  without  missing 
any  of  the  music.  He  certainly  was  a 
wonder. 

On  one  throne  sat  Madame  Breshkovska 
and  on  the  other  side,  on  a  throne  less  lofty 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  133 

and  not  so  secure,  sat  my  queen,  Ludmilla. 
I  have  no  talent  for  describing  ladies'  gowns, 
and  the  lack  of  it  was  early  manifested.  All 
I  know  is  that  the  dresses  were  the  most 
wonderful  I  had  ever  seen,  and  though  since 
that  time  I  have  seen  real  queens  and 
empresses  in  their  State  attire,  I  think  none 
of  them  wore  such  wonderful  clothes. 

Madame  Breshkovska  acted  as  her  own 
"  barker."  I  wish  there  were  a  more  fitting 
word,  for  indeed  she  did  not  bark,  she 
bellowed.  When  she  finally  called  out 
"  Entrez,  Entrez,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 
Entrez !  The .  marvellous,  magical,  me- 
chanical theater  is  now  open !  Entrez ! 
Entrez  /"  you  would  have  gone  in,  even  if 
you  had  known  that  your  doom  awaited  you 
there. 

The  crowd  was  mostly  third  class;  not 
only  because  third  class  folk  were  more 
numerous  but  because  first  and  second  class 
people  had  reserved  seats,  and  thus  the  rich 
missed  the  biggest  part  of  the  fun.  What 
could  be  more  exciting  than  to  be  part  of  a 
great  throng  hungry  for  the  wonders  of  the 


134  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

world,  pushing  toward  the  goal,  with  one 
mind  and  one  energized,  joyful  agony;  hold- 
ing on  to  its  coppers  until  the  doors  were 
opened,  then  throwing  them  down  in  reckless 
abandon  and  racing  for  the  gallery  ?  Nearly 
squeezed  to  death  I  reached  the  door,  my 
ticket  safely  clasped  in  my  hand  as  I  thought, 
only  to  find  when  I  opened  it  that  it  was  as 
empty  as  a  broken  egg-shell,  and  I  nearly  as 
badly  crushed. 

Vainly  did  I  plead  with  Ludmilla,  telling 
her  that  I  was  the  boy  who  peeled  the 
potatoes  and  whose  curls  she  had  admired. 
Oh,  woman !  Thy  name  is  inconstancy ! 
She  did  not  know  me,  or  pretended  not  to 
know  me,  and  the  same  hand  which  had 
patted  my  curls  caught  me  by  the  back  of 
my  neck  and  drew  me  out  of  the  engulfing 
vortex,  away  from  the  gate  of  my  paradise. 
I  might  have  become  a  woman  hater  then 
and  there,  and  I  should  not  have  been  to 
blame;  for  few  men  are  crossed  in  love  so 
early  in  life.  I  cried  so  loud  that  I  was 
heard  above  the  sliding  trombone  and  the 
beat  of  Cannonball's  drum. 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  135 

Then  my  unexpressed  prayer  was  heard 
and  my  deliverer  sent;  for  Uncle  Joe  ap- 
peared and  he  had  two  first  class  tickets,  one 
for  himself  and  one  for  me.  He  had  bought 
them  that  afternoon  and  had  been  looking 
for  me  everywhere.  Thus  ever  is  the  darkest 
hour  just  before  the  dawn  and  I  proudly 
walked  in  and  made  a  face  at  my  lady  love 
as  I  passed  by  her  throne.  Our  seats  were 
in  the  first  row,  where  as  yet  no  one  but  the 
nobility  sat.  Yanczy  Pal  was  my  neighbor, 
and  he  didn't  like  it  a  little  bit. 

Has  ever  any  man's  fortune  turned  more 
completely  around  ?  In  the  morning  peeling 
potatoes  to  earn  a  third  class  ticket,  and  in 
the  evening  sitting  in  the  first  row,  on  a  plush- 
covered  seat,  with  judges  and  tax  assessors 
and  other  dignitaries  and  right  next  to  the 
haughty  General,  Yanczy  Pal !  Inwardly  I 
crowed  louder  than  any  rooster  ever  could 
have  crowed,  and  I  took  every  occasion  to 
let  the  people  in  the  gallery  know  where  I 
sat.  But  my  curiosity  was  stronger  than  my 
vanity,  and  soon  I  became  absorbed  in  the 
preparations  for  the  opening.  Mysterious 


136  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

noises  were  heard  behind  the  scenes,  the  band 
began  to  play  and  at  last  a  bell  rang,  the  sig- 
nal for  the  performance  to  begin.  A  hood 
was  dropped  over  the  chandelier  in  which 
nearly  a  hundred  candles  flickered,  and  a 
mysterious  gloom  filled  the  tent. 

The  magic  lantern  was  the  first  of  the  won- 
ders seen.  Shapes  and  colors  leaped  upon 
the  screen  and  wound  in  and  out  in  kaleido- 
scopic fashion,  making  my  head  dizzy,  yet 
filling  my  mind  with  awe.  Where  did  these 
shapes  come  from?  Where  did  they  go? 
Uncle  Joe  tried  to  explain,  but  his  physics 
were  as  weak  as  my  understanding,  and  it 
remained  a  wonder  till  greater  miracles  hap- 
pened. 

Pictures  of  distant  scenes  crept  out  of  the 
dark,  and  we  could  almost  touch  them. 
Paris,  Peking  and  St.  Petersburg  were  there  ; 
palaces  of  kings  and  great  cathedrals  showed 
to  us  their  facades  and  towers ;  monuments 
and  bridges  enriched  our  drab  existence. 
Indeed  it  was  fairy-land,  and  worth  more  than 
it  cost,  and  I  forgot  the  fickleness  of  woman 
in  the  glory  of  the  new,  strange  scenes. 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  137 

Some  way  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world 
did  not  appeal  to  me  as  much  as  the  newer 
wonders,  and  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  felt 
when  the  Capitol  at  Washington  was  flashed 
upon  the  screen.  Uncle  Joe  gave  a  shout 
which  was  heard  all  over  the  tent.  The  high 
and  well  born  nobility  did  not  like  his  audible 
approval,  and  hisses  were  heard.  Uncle  Joe, 
however,  was  in  his  element  and  so  was  I. 
That  Capitol  thrilled  me  as  no  building  has 
since.  It  was  the  Temple  of  Freedom !  It 
typified  the  thing  I  had  learned  to  fight  for 
so  early  in  life !  It  was  the  people's  Capitol, 
yea,  above  all  else  it  was  Abraham  Lincoln! s 
Capitol!  There  he  stood  when  he  made  that 
inaugural  speech,  there  he  put  his  hand  upon 
the  Book  and  swore  to  uphold  the  constitu- 
tion ;  and  there  his  body  had  lain  in  state ! 

When  the  next  picture  appeared  I  thought 
Uncle  Joe  had  lost  his  mind,  for  he  leaped 
from  his  seat  and,  hardly  resting  upon  his 
crutch,  he  waved  his  hat  toward  the  crowd 
and  shouted,  "  Three  cheers  for  Abraham 
Lincoln  1 "  There,  indeed,  was  his  face  upon 
the  screen,  more  than  life  size,  smiling  upon 


138  Uncle  "Joes  Lincoln 

us  as  if  to  say,  "  I  like  you,  dear  people,  I 
have  always  liked  you,  and  I  hope  you  are 
having  a  good  time."  Once  more  Uncle  Joe 
shouted,  "Three  cheers  for  Abraham  Lin- 
coln !  "  and  again  he  gave  them,  three  times 
three,  with  a  will.  Again  the  nobility  was 
shocked,  and  the  judge  came  over  to  Uncle 
Joe  and  told  him  to  behave  himself  or  he 
would  be  thrown  out ;  that  this  was  not  the 
wilderness  of  America,  but  a  highly  civilized 
community.  Uncle  Joe,  freeman  that  he  was, 
told  the  judge  to  "  mind  his  own  business," 
and  the  show  proceeded. 

The  third  part  was  the  American  war, 
fought  by  soldiers  "  mechanically  agitated." 
I  do  not  recall  now  how  large  the  figures 
were.  I  do  know  that  they  were  not  much 
agitated,  for  they  went  across  the  stage  in 
solid  formations  much  like  tin  soldiers  in  a 
box.  When  they  began  to  move  Uncle  Joe 
was  up  again  and  whistling  "  Marching 
through  Georgia."  Soon,  however,  he  be- 
gan to  hurl  contemptuous  remarks  toward 
the  stage.  "That  wasn't  a  war,"  he  said, 
"  that  was  a  parade.  Get  a  move  on  them." 


The  Marvellous,  Mechanical  Theater  139 

This  time  Madame  Breshkovska  appeared 
through  the  gloom  and  whispered  into  Uncle 
Joe's  ear.  He  told  her  that  she  had  a  fake 
war  on  that  stage  and  he  wouldn't  stand  for 
it.  A  quarrel  was  imminent,  and  I  hoped  it 
would  not  break  up  the  show. 

At  that  moment  a  "  mechanically  agitated  " 
soldier  appeared,  carrying  an  American  flag 
which  fluttered  enticingly  in  a  "  mechanic- 
ally agitated  "  breeze.  I  know  now  what  the 
flag  says  at  a  time  like  that,  and  I  can  under- 
stand just  why  Uncle  Joe  held  up  his  crutch 
with  his  hat  on  top  of  it  and  waved  it  frantic- 
ally as  he  gave  three  cheers  for  the  flag,  and 
yelled  like  a  mad  man.  I  have  felt  that  way 
myself,  many  a  time.  But  then  I  wished 
Uncle  Joe's  patriotism  were  not  of  quite  so 
violent  a  brand,  for  a  dark  shadow  swept  over 
the  lighted  stage  obscuring  both  flag  and  sol- 
diers. Madame  Breshkovska  swooped  down 
upon  Uncle  Joe,  and  picking  him  up  as  if  he 
were  a  feather,  carried  him  out  of  the  tent, 
while  the  hood  was  drawn  up  to  light  her  on 
her  way  and  make  Uncle  Joe's  disgrace  visi- 
ble to  all.  She  did  not  go  through  the  near- 


140  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

est  door  but  the  whole  length  of  the  tent, 
dropping  him  on  the  ground  outside.  I  fol- 
lowed with  his  crutch  and  his  hat 

"  Go  back,  Yingele"  he  said,  trying  to  push 
me  through  the  door ;  but  his  joy  had  been 
mine  in  seeing  the  Capitol,  and  Abraham 
Lincoln,  and  the  waving  flag,  and  the  dis- 
grace was  mine,  too ;  so  I  never  saw  the  end 
of  those  "treasures  of  the  universe."  But 
what  other  treasures  could  there  have  been  ? 

Uncle  Joe  felt  the  disgrace  of  being  carried 
out  by  a  woman,  and  felt  it  so  much  that 
when  on  our  way  home  we  approached  the 
Black  Eagle,  he  began  to  falter,  and  his  body 
swayed  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  Sud- 
denly he  thrust  me  from  him  as  if  a  great 
power  which  he  could  not  resist  controlled 
him,  and  entered  the  inn,  leaving  me  in  the 
dark,  to  go  home  alone. 

When  Madame  Breshkovska's  "marvel- 
lous, magical,  mechanical  theater"  left  us, 
St.  Florian  and  St.  Michael  looked  down  upon 
a  changed  world  ;  for  Uncle  Joe  had  "  got  re- 
ligion "  and  Rudolph  the  lame  had  run  away 
with  the  "  Wonders  of  the  Universe." 


IX 

Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion  and  Pays  His 
Debt  to  Abraham  Lincoln 

ALTHOUGH  my  mother  told  me  a 
dozen  times  to  lie  still  and  go  to 
sleep,  I  did  not  for  I  could  not.  My 
brain  was  in  a  whirl.  I  saw  strange  geo- 
metric figures  appearing  and  disappearing, 
cathedrals  flew  by  me  like  monster  butter- 
flies, cities  were  created  and  annihilated,  and 
I  fought  the  Civil  War  with  Uncle  Joe  and 
Abraham  Lincoln.  Ludmilla  stroked  my 
curls,  then  held  me  by  the  back  of  my  neck, 
and  I  decided  to  become  a  photographer  so 
that  all  the  young  ladies  would  come  and 
have  their  pictures  taken  and  make  her 
jealous.  Just  before  I  fell  asleep  I  heard 
Uncle  Joe  push  his  door  open  with  his 
crutch,  and  that  excited  me  even  more  than 
the  whirl  of  the  wonders  of  the  world ;  in- 
deed it  was  the  greatest  wonder,  for  Uncle 
141 


142  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

Joe  had  never  before  come  home  the  same 
night  on  which  he  entered  the  Black  Eagle 
Inn. 

When  I  woke  the  next  morning  I  found 
him  sober  and  sad.  A  new,  strange  look  had 
come  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  were  both  ashamed 
and  surprised.  He  did  not  allude  to  the 
events  of  the  evening  before,  and  went  out 
shortly  after  drinking  his  coffee.  Fearing 
that  he  might  be  returning  to  the  inn,  I  fol- 
lowed him ;  but  much  to  my  surprise  he 
went  into  the  house  of  the  Rabbi  instead, 
and  that  was  even  a  greater  miracle  than  his 
remaining  sober  when  he  had  money. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say  that 
Uncle  Joe  and  the  Rabbi  had  not  been  on 
speaking  terms.  Uncle  Joe  was  as  much  a 
heathen  in  the  eyes  of  the  Rabbi  as  he  was 
a  revolutionist  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  He 
never  went  to  the  synagogue,  he  ridiculed  all 
forms  of  religion  whose  spirit  had  departed 
from  them,  and,  horror  of  horrors,  it  was 
rumored  that  he  ate  pork.  The  rumor  was 
correct,  for  when  my  mother  reproved  him 
for  that  iniquity  he  said :  "  I  ate  pork  for 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion        143 

three  years  in  the  army,  and  it  didn't  hurt 
me,  and  if  hogs  are  really  such  bad  animals 
as  you  think,  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  kill 
them  and  eat  them."  Of  course  that  was 
poor  reasoning  and  a  bad  example  for  the 
rest  of  us,  to  whom  the  abstinence  from  pork 
was  one  of  the  pillars  of  our  faith.  More 
than  once  my  mother  was  reproved  by  the 
Rabbi  for  harboring  an  apostate  in  her  home, 
and  a  very  pious  uncle  of  mine  never  entered 
our  door  while  he  was  living  with  us ;  but 
she  steadfastly  refused  to  turn  him  out. 

Just  what  happened  in  the  Rabbi's  home 
we  never  knew  ;  but  on  the  following  Friday 
evening,  the  eve  of  the  Sabbath,  Uncle  Joe 
surprised  me  by  saying,  "  Yingele,  I  will  go 
to  the  temple  with  you."  All  through  the 
service  Uncle  Joe  sat  by  my  side  in  our 
family  pew,  which  smelled  of  varnish  and 
tallow  candles,  watching  me ;  rising  when 
the  responses  called  for  rising,  and  kissing 
the  sacred  fringes  fervently  when  he  saw  me 
kissing  them. 

The  pious  men  were  not  so  engrossed  in 
their  devotions  that  they  failed  to  notice 


•  144  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Uncle  Joe  in  the  place  where  he  had  not 
been  seen  before.  There  was  quite  an  au- 
dible hum  as  they  commented  upon  it,  and 
when  we  left  the  sacred  precincts  they  gave 
him  a  "  Good  Sabbath "  greeting,  as  if  he 
were  one  of  them.  When  we  reached  home, 
festally  lighted  by  the  Sabbath  candles,  and 
my  mother,  meeting  me  at  the  door,  put  her 
hands  upon  my  head  and  blessed  me  as  was 
her  custom,  Uncle  Joe  said  in  a  subdued 
voice,  "  Bless  me,  too,"  and  bowed  his  head 
as  if  he  were  just  a  little  boy ;  and  she  blessed 
him. 

Eating  the  Sabbath  meal  was  as  much  a 
religious  function  as  praying  in  the  temple. 
A  red  cloth  on  which  prayers  were  embroid- 
ered covered  the  poppy  seed  bread,  and 
when  it  was  withdrawn  and  the  blessing 
asked  upon  the  meal,  Uncle  Joe  joined  rather 
haltingly,  for  he  had  not  repeated  it  for  many 
a  year.  He  had  an  annoying  habit  of  eating 
his  soup  very  noisily,  and  at  this  meal  every 
spoonful  he  swallowed  was  accompanied  by 
a  nervous  gulp,  which  was  always  a  sign  of 
his  having  something  on  his  mind  of  which 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion         145 

he  was  eager  to  relieve  himself.  With  a 
drumstick  of  the  Sabbath  goose  in  his  hand, 
he  gesticulated  for  some  time  without  saying 
anything;  when  he  had  gathered  sufficient 
courage  he  broke  the  silence  of  the  evening 
by  calling  my  mother  by  her  first  name, 
which  he  had  never  done  before. 

"  Deborah,  dear,  do  you  believe  in  God  ?  " 
My  mother's  faith  had  never  wavered,  and 
she  scarcely  knew  what  he  meant  "I 
mean,"  he  said,  "  do  you  believe  that  God 
cares  enough  for  His  creatures  to  take  an 
interest  in  their  affairs?"  Here,  too,  her 
testimony  was  reassuring ;  for  had  not  God 
comforted  her  when  she  was  widowed  and 
had  He  not  sustained  her  when  she  was  in 
despair  ? 

Uncle  Joe  had  dropped  his  drumstick. 
His  he^ad  sank  upon  his  chest  till  I  feared 
that  his  beard  and  the  gravy  on  his  plate 
were  in  danger  each  of  the  other.  "Deb- 
orah, dear,"  he  said  again,  "you  won't 
think  me  a  fool  or  a  lunatic  if  I  tell  you  that 
I  saw  the  Almighty  Himself  last  night,  at  the 
Black  Eagle  Inn?" 


146  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

Of  that  my  mother  was  not  so  sure,  for 
"  no  man  can  see  God  and  live  "  and  "  surely 
the  Almighty,  blessed  be  His  name,  would 
look  for  a  better  place  in  which  to  reveal 
Himself  than  the  unholy  tobacco-smoke-filled 
Black  Eagle  Inn." 

And  then  Uncle  Joe  told  her  his  experience 
after  he  left  "  Madame  Breshkovska's  Mar- 
vellous, Magical,  Mechanical  Theater,"  which 
accounted  for  a  number  of  mysterious  things 
that  had  happened  since  he  left  me  out  in 
the  dark,  as  he  disappeared  through  the 
doors  of  the  Black  Eagle  Inn.  His  shame  at 
being  carried  out  of  the  theater  by  a  woman, 
the  fumes  of  wine  which  assailed  his  nostrils, 
the  unspent  pension  money  in  his  pocket, 
were  all  to  blame  for  his  going  into  the  inn 
at  all.  His  cronies  greeted  him  more  joy- 
fully because  of  his  long  absence  from  their 
carousals,  and  the  waiter  brought  a  bottle  of 
Hungarian  wine  of  his  favorite  vintage ;  but 
when  he  began  to  fill  his  glass  something 
seemed  to  hold  back  his  hand ;  he  tried  to 
lift  the  bottle  and  couldn't.  Then  involun- 
tarily he  closed  his  eyes  and,  without  know- 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion        147 

ing  why  he  did  it,  began  repeating  his  even- 
ing prayer  which  he  thought  he  had  forgotten 
entirely ;  for  it  had  lain  unused  in  his  mind 
since  he  said  it  the  last  time,  sixty  or  more 
years  ago. 

While  he  was  repeating  it,  he  thought  he 
saw  God,  looking  as  stern  as  the  District 
Judge  who  had  reproved  him  that  evening. 
He  had  a  long  beard  and  fierce  mustaches. 
He  sat  upon  a  thunder-cloud  and  lightning 
was  playing  all  around  Him.  That  was  the 
way  he  used  to  see  God  when  he  was  a  little 
boy  and  tried  to  think  what  He  looked  like. 
Then  the  picture  faded,  and  he  saw  God 
again ;  this  time  He  wore  the  uniform  of  the 
Union  Army,  and  when  he  could  see  His 
features  He  looked  more  like  the  Captain 
who  court-martialed  him  when  he  deserted. 
Gradually  the  blue  uniform  faded  away,  and 
he  saw  a  tall,  lean,  lank  figure  dressed  all  in 
black,  and  a  face  full  of  grief  looked  upon 
him.  The  forehead  was  wrinkled,  the  eyes 
were  made  tender  by  unshed  tears,  and  he 
thought  he  heard  the  voice  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  say  to  him :  "  Have  I  spared  your 


148  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

miserable  life  so  that  instead  of  dying  as  a 
deserter  by  bullets,  you  should  die  as  a 
drunkard,  killed  by  wine  bottles  ?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Uncle  Joe  with  deep  solem- 
nity, "a  hand  seemed  to  lift  me  from  my 
chair.  No,  it  was  not  the  hand  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  he  wouldn't  have  been  strong  enough 
to  do  it.  It  was  the  hand  of  the  Almighty 
Himself,  and  He  carried  me  out  of  the  room 
as  if  I  were  a  feather  in  His  hand.  No,  I 
hadn't  tasted  a  drop  of  the  wine.  I  wasn't 
drunk ;  I  was  more  sober  than  I  have  been 
for  years.  Deborah,  dear,  it  was  the  hand 
of  God  Himself,  blessed  be  His  name  1 " 

My  mother  did  not  have  much  faith  in  his 
religious  experience,  and  she  urged  him  to 
put  into  her  keeping  the  unspent  pension 
money ;  but  he  turned  his  pockets  inside  out 
to  assure  her  that  it  was  gone,  and  told  her 
in  a  whisper,  as  if  he  did  not  wish  the  de- 
parted spirits  to  hear  him,  that  he  had  given 
it  all  to  the  Rabbi  for  the  "Haskora"  (a 
memorial)  to  his  most  beloved  dead. 

From  that  time,  Uncle  Joe  went  twice  each 
day  to  the  synagogue,  as  if  to  make  up  for 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion         149 

his  past  deficiencies,  and  I,  alas !  had  to  go 
with  him,  for  he  could  not  wind  the  prayer 
strap  around  his  arm  or  place  it  on  his  fore- 
head. Not  having  had  such  a  definite  re- 
ligious experience  as  Uncle  Joe,  and  usually 
skipping  whole  pages  of  my  prayers,  I  found 
his  piety  rather  irksome ;  for  he  was  as 
punctilious  about  my  devotions  as  he  was 
about  his  own.  He  punched  my  ribs  or 
rapped  my  knuckles  when  he  caught  me 
skipping  some  of  the  prayers,  evidently  for- 
getting that  the  Lord  Himself  had  not 
"  lifted  me  out  of  my  chair  and  carried  me 
out  as  if  I  were  a  feather."  I  believed  Him 
far  away  in  His  heaven  and  so  busy  running 
this  universe  that  one  or  two  pages  of  prayers 
more  or  less  did  not  bother  Him  very  much. 
All  Uncle  Joe's  belated  religious  fervor 
went  into  the  observance  of  the  Day  of 
Atonement.  My  mother  made  him  a  prayer 
shroud  of  the  finest  linen,  and  he  bought  him- 
self a  silken  prayer  mantle,  pledging  a  large 
part  of  his  next  pension  money  for  it.  I  car- 
ried his  paraphernalia  of  worship  to  the  tem- 
ple with  some  pride,  though  frankly  I  did  not 


150  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

anticipate  the  long  day  of  fasting  and  prayer 
with  any  joy,  and  wished  that  it  were  the 
Fourth  of  July  instead,  with  its  still  untasted 
joys  of  sandwiches  and  ice-cream.  Uncle  Joe 
looked  unusually  pale  and  worn,  for  his  old 
enemy,  the  bronchial  cough,  was  troubling 
him,  though  he  tried  to  suppress  it  for  fear 
of  disturbing  the  service.  The  synagogue 
was  always  crowded  on  this  solemn  day. 
The  air  was  heavy  and  humid,  and  as  the 
slow  hours  wore  on,  women  fainted  from  the 
rigor  of  the  fast,  and  little  boys  teased  for 
food.  More  than  one  of  them  slipped  out 
and  found  their  way  into  the  pantry  at  home, 
and  came  back  boasting  how  well  they  stood 
the  fast,  and  that  they  were  not  a  bit  hungry. 
But  this  time  I  was  not  one  of  the  deserters, 
for  Uncle  Joe  hovered  over  me  as  a  hen  hov- 
ers over  her  lonely  chick.  He  scarcely  per- 
mitted me  to  go  from  his  side,  for  he  needed 
my  help  in  guiding  him  through  the  mazes 
of  the  long  service,  and  he  wanted  to  do 
everything  according  to  custom.  It  was  one 
of  the  longest  and  hardest  days  I  ever  lived. 
A  thousand  times  or  more,  forward  and  back- 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion         151 

ward,  I  counted  the  spindles  in  the  railing  of 
the  gallery  which  separated  the  women  from 
the  men  worshippers,  and  each  time  Uncle 
Joe  drew  my  attention  back  to  the  prayer 
book,  often  with  his  usual  vicious  pull  at  my 
curls.  Twice  I  escaped  him  and  went  up  to 
the  gallery,  and  had  a  good  cry,  hiding  my 
face  in  my  mother's  lap,  and  smelling  at  her 
quince  pierced  all  over  with  cloves.  That  did 
not  sufficiently  revive  me  so  I  bit  into  it. 
The  juice  refreshed  me,  and  I  hope  the  re- 
cording angel  did  not  take  notice. 

At  last  the  sun  was  sinking  and  its  wel- 
come rays  rested  on  the  Ark  in  which  the 
sacred  scrolls  of  the  Law  were  kept.  The 
climax  of  the  long  service  drew  near,  the 
stragglers  came  flocking  back,  the  women 
ceased  their  chatter ;  the  Rabbi,  his  hoary 
head  covered  by  the  prayer  mantle,  ap- 
proached the  sacred  desk,  and  in  plaintive 
voice  began  the  service  for  the  dead.  Uncle 
Joe  was  all  in  a  quiver,  suppressing  his  per- 
sistent cough  and  gulping — a  sure  sign  of 
his  nervous  state. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  forgotten 


152  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

nearly  all  the  melodies  of  the  synagogue 
service  ;  it  is  a  long  long  time  since  I  heard 
them,  but  if  I  should  live  to  be  a  hundred 
years  old  I  shall  remember  that  chant  for  the 
dead.  It  was  almost  a  slumber  song,  as  if 
the  Rabbi  were  crooning  a  lullaby  to  the 
spirits  of  the  departed,  or  trying  to  comfort 
them  if  they  needed  it,  or  assuring  them  that 
they  were  still  remembered  upon  that  earth 
from  which  they  had  gone,  and  that  their  im- 
mortality was  secure.  All  were  remembered 
in  a  general  way ;  those  who  died  of  illness, 
or  accident,  through  famine  or  through  war. 
Then  came  a  chant  of  exaltation,  and  a  new, 
high  and  solemn  note  into  his  voice ;  it  was 
the  remembrance  of  the  martyrs,  and  they 
were  all  named — the  Rabbis  burned  by  the 
inquisitors  in  Spain,  those  who  had  helped  to 
conserve  the  faith  by  dying  for  it ;  then  the 
names  became  more  modern,  and  more  famil- 
iar, names  of  those  slain  by  the  mobs  in  their 
"  Jew  baiting,"  and  their  descendants  were  as 
thrilled  by  this  recital  as  if  the  very  dead  were 
come  back  among  them. 

Every  one  hung  breathless  upon  the  words 


Uncle  Joe  Gets  Religion        153 

of  the  Rabbi ;  the  atmosphere  grew  tense  from 
spiritual  excitement.  There  was  a  pause  as 
if  the  end  had  come ;  then  one  name  was 
uttered  coupled  with  Uncle  Joe's  as  the 
founder  of  that  memorial :  "  Aa-vro-hom 
Leen-co-o-ln ! "  The  last  syllable  was  long 
drawn  out  by  the  Rabbi,  who  no  doubt 
thought  it  was  some  foreign  Hebrew  he  was 
thus  remembering  before  the  throne  of  the 
Almighty. 

Then  Uncle  Joe's  suppressed  cough  released 
itself.  I  thought  the  old  man  would  choke  to 
death,  and  I  had  to  lead  him  out  while  his 
poor  frame  was  shaken  as  by  convulsions. 
He  did  not  speak  a  word,  while  we  sat  for  a 
long  time  on  the  stone  bench,  in  the  yard  of 
the  synagogue.  Then  between  the  paroxysms 
of  his  cough,  I  heard  him  say  half  question- 
ingly:  "We  are  quits  now,  Abraham  Lin- 
coln." 


The  Three-Quarters  of  a  Man  Is  Made 
Whole  again,  and  'Uncle  Joe  Goes  on 
His  Last  Journey 

THE  cough  did  not  subside  so  that  we 
could  return  to  the  synagogue  for 
the  closing  service,  and  I  fear  I  was 
not  sorry.  I  had  a  hard  time  getting  Uncle 
Joe  home,  for  he  was  so  exhausted  that  he 
could  scarcely  propel  himself  on  his  crutch, 
and  I  was  too  weak  and  hungry  to  help  him. 
When  we  reached  home  he  went  to  bed,  and 
I  had  no  other  care  than  to  look  for  the  first 
star  which  was  the  heavenly  signal  that  the 
fast  might  be  broken.  No  astronomer  ever 
searched  the  heavens  with  greater  eagerness 
than  I  searched  them,  and  when  I  saw  a 
faint  twinkle  in  the  evening  sky  I  proclaimed 
it  most  joyfully. 

Uncle  Joe  coughed  all  night  and  did  not 
X54 


Uncle  Joe  Takes  His  Last  Journey   155 

sleep  that  night,  or  the  next  day  or  night 
The  doctor  made  frequent  visits,  and  shook 
his  head ;  but  long  before  Uncle  Joe  was 
told  that  this  might  be  the  end,  he  knew  it. 
On  Sunday  afternoon  I  found  my  mother  in 
his  room,  holding  his  emaciated  hand  and 
reassuring  him  as  he  tried  hard  to  ask  her  to 
forgive  him.  Once  or  twice  he  attempted  to 
lift  the  stump  of  his  arm,  forgetting  that  it 
was  gone,  or  tried  to  raise  his  head,  then  sank 
back  exhausted  by  the  effort.  His  eyes  had 
a  far-away  look  and  he  was  muttering  in 
English.  The  next  day  the  doctor  came  sev- 
eral times,  and  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  I 
came  home  from  school,  I  heard  from  afar 
the  weird,  discordant  chanting  of  prayers, 
and  the  lamentations  of  the  pious  men  of  the 
burial  society,  who  were  helping  the  release 
of  Uncle  Joe's  weary  soul  Old  men  they 
were  mostly,  in  their  workaday  dress. 
Their  voices  were  hard  and  harsh,  and  I 
pitied  the  poor  struggling,  dying  man,  wish- 
ing with  all  my  heart  that  I  had  the  power  to 
drive  them  all  out  of  the  room  ;  for  then  he 
might  have  died  more  easily. 


156  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

The  Hebrew  has  no  illusion  about  death ; 
it  is  his  goal,  and  he  cannot  escape  it.  He 
faces  that  fact  every  day,  and  wears  his 
shroud  at  his  wedding  and  on  the  great  holy 
days.  The  Death  Angel  comes,  and  cares 
not  to  hide  his  coming.  He  seems  to  walk 
heavily  over  the  creaking  floor,  with  booted 
feet.  The  elemental  agonies  of  the  dying  are 
not  eased  by  words  of  consolation,  nor  is  the 
grief  of  the  mourners  covered  by  draperies 
or  fragrant  flowers. 

No  doubt  all  the  hope  of  the  race  for  sur- 
vival after  death  is  contained  in  the  prayers 
the  men  were  offering,  but  they  were  recited 
in  Hebrew,  and  neither  they  nor  Uncle  Joe 
knew  what  they  were  saying.  His  poor  tor- 
tured soul  was  seeking  its  release.  He  saw 
me  and  beckoned.  I  tried  to  run  away,  for 
death  held  strange  terrors  for  me ;  but  the 
smile  of  recognition  which  flitted  over  his 
pain-drawn  face  drew  me  back,  and  I  knelt 
before  him,  trying  to  hide  my  face  in  the 
feather  bed  on  which  he  lay. 

His  hand  moved  over  my  curly  hair  (he 
was  too  weak  to  pull  it)  and  I  lifted  my  eyes 


Uncle  Joe  Takes  His  Last  Journey   157 

to  his.  He  tried  to  point  to  the  flag  which 
was  above  his  bed,  and  I,  knowing  what  he 
wanted,  climbed  up  and  released  it  and 
spread  it  on  the  coverlet.  His  fingers  moved 
nervously  over  it,  as  he  tried  to  say  some^ 
thing  but  couldn't.  I  nodded  understand- 
ingly,  for  I  knew  he  wanted  to  be  buried  in 
the  flag.  We  had  spoken  of  it  many  times. 

"  Bury  me  in  the  Stars  and  Stripes,"  he 
used  to  say,  "  even  if  I  am  buried  in  the 
potter's  field.  That's  why  I  brought  Old 
Glory  with  me." 

He  moved  restlessly,  still  looking  at  me 
intently  as  if  to  say,  "  Don't  you  understand, 
little  boy,  what  I  want  most  ?  "  I  did  under- 
stand, and  took  from  the  wall  the  picture  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  and  he  looked  at  it  in- 
tently. I  was  about  to  remove  it,  for  I  was 
eager  to  be  gone,  but  his  beseeching  eyes 
drew  me  back,  and  I  held  it  before  him 
again.  He  tried  to  lift  himself  but  only  half 
succeeded  ;  then  he  raised  his  hand  in  salute, 
falteringly  and  with  great  effort — and  fell 
back  gasping  for  breath. 

I  fled  from  the  room  and  ran  as  fast  as  I 


158  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

could  to  tell  the  news  to  my  cronies.  I  went 
to  the  Castell  where  I  had  not  gone  for  a  long 
time,  to  tell  Yanczy  Pal,  for  enmities  are  for- 
gotten in  the  face  of  sad  tidings  ;  then  up  to 
the  mill  to  tell  Cannonball.  I  stopped  at  the 
smithy  and  shouted  to  Pavel  Chorvat  that 
Uncle  Joe  was  dying.  I  think  I  felt  proud ; 
for  in  a  place  where  news  was  scarce  it  was 
something  of  a  privilege  to  be  the  first  one  to 
tell  it. 

When  I  reached  home  it  was  all  over,  and 
Uncle  Joe  had  joined  his  comrades  of  the 
Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  who  had  pre- 
ceded him  upon  the  last,  long,  weary  march. 
In  accordance  with  their  custom  the  pious 
men  laid  his  body  on  the  floor.  He  was 
dressed  in  the  new  linen  shroud  which  he 
had  worn  but  recently  on  the  Day  of  Atone- 
ment, and  wrapped  around  it  were  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  which  never  before  nor  since  cov- 
ered a  greater  lover  of  the  flag  of  freedom. 

Upon  a  plain  wooden  slab  his  body  was 
carried  to  the  God's  Acre  and  at  the  head 
of  the  funeral  procession  walked  Yanczy  Pal, 
Pavel  Chorvat,  Speckled  Horse,  Cannonball 


Uncle  Joe  Takes  His  Last  Journey  159 

and  the  Gypsy  boys  to  whom  he  had  given 
many  a  penny.  I  was  in  advance  of  them, 
for  I  had  an  appointment  with  Old  Istvan 
behind  the  big  willow  tree  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  cemetery.  He  had  brought  his  gun 
by  request,  and  his  dog  came  unbidden.  I 
had  contracted  with  the  old  peasant  to  fire  a 
salute  of  two  guns,  but  Yanczy  Pal  insisted 
that  there  must  be  three,  both  for  military 
and  religious  reasons.  I  did  not  mind  the 
extra  cost  for  the  other  shot,  but  when  I 
asked  him  what  the  religious  reason  was, 
and  he  said  "  One  for  the  Father,  one  for  the 
Son  and  one  for  the  Holy  Ghost,"  I  objectedc 
But  Yanczy  Pal  being  born  to  command,  had 
his  way.  The  pious  men  had  said  their 
prayers  and  Uncle  Joe's  body  was  lowered 
into  the  grave.  As  the  men  threw  clods  of 
earth  upon  it,  at  the  same  time  praying  that 
the  burden  of  them  might  be  light  upon  him, 
three  shots  were  fired.  Istvan  and  Yanczy 
Pal  crossed  themselves,  there  was  a  scamper 
of  little  feet,  a  cry  of  alarm  from  the  mourn- 
ers— and  the  Lincoln  Army  had  paid  its  last 
tribute  to  its  founder  and  inspirer — Uncle  Joe. 


XI 

Tells  How  There  Happens  to  Be  a  Lin- 
coln Club  on  the  East  Side  of  New 
York 

NO,  it  was  not  a  trick  of  fate.  We 
were  foreordained  to  be  Americans, 
all  of  us  except  Yanczy  Pal.  He 
went  to  the  Military  Academy  in  Vienna  and 
received  his  commission,  and  when  I  saw 
him  last  he  was  riding  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment.  I  felt  like  telling  him  not  to  look 
so  proud  and  haughty,  but  he  could  not  help 
that  for  he  inherited  his  arrogance  from 
his  heroic  ancestors,  who  wore  their  military 
decorations  on  their  nightgowns  and  to 
whom  all  civilians  were  Basama  Teremtete. 

Since  our  boyhood  I  had  seen  him  just 
once  before,  when  I  was  revisiting  the  scenes 
of  the  Lincoln  Army's  exploits.  My  little 
girl  was  with  me,  and  she  was  fascinated  by 
the  man  in  a  sky  blue  uniform  trimmed  in 

gold   braid  and  buttons.     He  stopped  and 
1 60 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club      161 

talked  to  the  little  "  Amerikauska"  and 
when  I  told  him  who  I  was  he  seemed  glad, 
but  only  for  a  moment ;  then  his  face  took 
on  the  Napoleonic  expression.  He  put  his 
hand  between  the  buttons  of  his  sky  blue 
coat,  clicked  his  spurs,  and  saying  that  times 
had  changed,  marched  off  with  great  dignity. 
For  a  minute  I  resented  his  indifference  and 
was  tempted  to  remind  him  that  he  had 
never  given  me  back  the  handkerchief  I  lent 
him  when  a  "  veteran  who  is  no  earthly  good 
in  the  army  "  had  given  him  a  very  humiliat- 
ing thrashing.  Realizing,  however,  that  I  am 
a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  which  is  some- 
thing more  than  being  an  officer  in  His 
Majesty's  army,  I  refrained  from  recalling 
the  incident. 

While  Yanczy  Pal  never  became  an 
American,  he  married  a  very  rich  American, 
who,  as  it  was  reported,  ruled  the  regiment 
and  its  commander ;  so  while  the  rest  of  us 
became  citizens  of  the  United  States,  he 
merely  became,  although  indirectly,  its  sub- 
ject. 

Most  of  the  rest  of  us  you  will  find  in  New 


1 62  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

York  City,  that  great  catch  basin  of  the 
world's  human  overflow.  All  of  us  are 
among  those  whom  Abraham  Lincoln  said 
God  evidently  liked,  for  He  made  so  many 
of  them, — the  poor.  Individually  we  own 
no  real  estate,  but  together  we  have  pur- 
chased an  acre  of  ground,  "  out  Jersey  way," 
for  a  cemetery ;  for  the  poor,  while  living  in 
tenements,  want  to  make  sure  that  they  need 
not  be  buried  in  paupers'  graves. 

Twice  a  month  on  Sunday  afternoons,  the 
members  of  the  Lincoln  Army  living  in  New 
York  meet  together.  If  you  care  to  visit 
them  you  will  have  to  take  the  Third 
Avenue  elevated,  which,  of  course,  is  cheaper 
than  a  taxi ;  and  while  you  travel  you  may 
see  "  how  the  other  half  lives."  You  must 
not  be  so  absorbed  in  looking  at  the  moving 
picture,  of  which  each  glimpse  is  a  tragedy 
or  a  comedy,  as  to  forget  to  leave  the  car  on 
Sixtieth  Street,  or  thereabouts.  Be  sure  that 
you  turn  east  rather  than  west,  for  here,  in- 
deed, "  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and 
never  the  twain  shall  meet."  Here  you  will 
strike  the  backwash  from  Fifth  Avenue  and 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club      163 

Park  Avenue,  from  costly  mansions  and  as 
costly  apartments.  In  these  crowded  streets 
live  the  postmen,  butlers,  pressers  and  clean- 
ers, chauffeurs  and  manicurists,  and  the  multi- 
tude of  those  who  minister  to  the  rich.  On 
each  corner  is  a  saloon  with  a  delicatessen 
shop  not  far  away,  and  Hungarian  and 
Bohemian  restaurants  and  coffee  houses  cater 
to  national  appetites. 

A  block  or  two  from  the  car  line  you  will 
find  a  building  completely  given  over  to  the 
gratification  of  the  fraternal  instinct,  the 
passion  for  cooperation.  Ascending  a  steep, 
musty  stairway,  you  enter  a  small  lodge 
room,  used  in  turn  by  Secret  Societies, 
Labor  Unions,  and  Sick  and  Benefit  Asso- 
ciations. It  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  parapher- 
nalia, the  symbols  of  brotherhood  used  in  the 
ritual  of  the  religion  of  doing  good.  Don't 
be  repelled  by  the  odors,  which  range  from 
stale  cigarette  smoke  to  that  which  is  most 
innocent  and  yet  most  penetrating — garlic. 
The  sour  smell  of  the  drippings  from  the 
near-by  bar  is  quite  obtrusive,  and  the  air  is 
apt  to  be  heavy  and  stifling. 


164  Uncle  Joes  Lincoln 

I  went  to  this  room  for  the  first  time  a 
good  many  years  ago,  when  first  I  learned 
that  several  prominent  members  of  the  Lin- 
coln Army  belonged  to  a  "  Sick  and  Benefit " 
society  which  held  its  meetings  there.  The 
Stars  and  Stripes  are  in  evidence,  not  born  of 
the  patriotic  fervor  engendered  by  the  war ; 
the  flag  has  been  there  ever  since  this  club 
became  part  tenants  of  the  lodge  room.  The 
picture  of  Abraham  Lincoln  hangs  on  one 
side  of  the  Grand  Master's  chair  and  that  of 
Uncle  Joe  on  the  other  side,  and  when  the 
members  enter  the  room  they  always  salute 
them  and  the  flag  which  drapes  them.  Grad- 
ually they  have  learned  proper  decorum  for 
they  were  unaccustomed  to  parliamentary 
usage,  and  at  first  the  meetings  were  highly 
entertaining. 

However,  if  you  had  attended  one  with  me 
on  the  second  Sunday  in  April  of  this  year, 
you  would  have  found  the  proceedings  con- 
ducted not  only  according  to  Roberts'  Rules 
of  Order,  but  full  of  patriotic  fervor,  for  they 
were  dedicating  their  service  flag.  Their 
wives  and  children  and  grandchildren  were 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club     165 

with  them,  and  while  they  created  a  little 
confusion,  they  also  added  to  the  impressive- 
ness  of  the  occasion. 

Rudolph  the  lame  presided.  Doubtless 
you  remember  that  it  was  he  who  ran  away 
with  the  "  Marvellous,  Magical,  Mechanical 
Theater."  Years  after,  he  married  Lud- 
milla,  the  fairy  queen  who  had  roused  my 
ambition  to  become  a  photographer. 

Cannonball,  grown  unrecognizably  slender, 
well-groomed,  and  looking  thoroughly  effi- 
cient, led  his  tiny  granddaughter  of  three 
years,  to  the  platform.  Her  part  in  the  pro- 
gram was  to  pledge  allegiance  to  the  flag. 
A  more  exquisite  little  creature  I  have  never 
seen — like  a  bit  of  delicate  china,  with  large, 
liquid  gray  eyes  and  hair  of  burnished  gold. 

Encouraged  by  a  few  reassuring  words 
from  her  proud  grandfather,  she  began,  her 
fingers  meanwhile  twisting  in  and  out  of  the 
folds  of  her  abbreviated  white  frock  : 

"  I  pledge  alle-g-i-ance  to  my — flag  (there 
she  saluted)  and  the  re-pub-lic  for  which  it 
stands.  One  nation,  in-di-vi-si-ble " — that 
was  such  a  big  word — "  with  lib-er-ty  and 


1 66  Uncle  Joe's  Lincoln 

justice  for  all."  The  last  few  words  were 
said  all  in  one  breath,  quickly,  as  children 
are  apt  to  say  last  words  of  "  a  piece." 

A  storm  of  applause  followed,  and  as  if 
moved  by  one  impulse,  those  foreign-born 
parents  and  grandparents  rose,  and  saluted 
the  flag — their  flag. 

Speckled  Horse  is  secretary  of  the  club 
and  is  remarkably  efficient.  His  daughter 
played  the  Star  Spangled  Banner,  and  we  all 
knew  every  verse,  and  sang  without  falling 
by  the  way  when  its  high  notes  were 
reached. 

The  secretary  read  the  minutes  of  the  last 
meeting.  In  these  days  when  billions  of  dol- 
lars are  offered  up  on  the  altar  of  our  coun- 
try, you  might  not  have  been  thrilled  by  the 
sums  of  money  they  have  given  for  the  Red 
Cross  and  the  purchase  of  Liberty  Bonds ; 
but  when  you  remember  that  none  of  them 
has  ever  earned  more  than  five  dollars  a  day, 
and  that  most  of  them  work  at  seasonal 
labor,  their  hundreds  and  thousands  are  fairly 
eloquent.  What  touched  me  even  more 
than  the  money  they  have  given  for  our  be- 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club     167 

loved  land,  was  the  fact  that  over  one-third 
of  the  members  of  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
Club  pledged  not  less  than  one  hour  daily  for 
work  in  the  Liberty  Loan  or  Red  Cross  cam- 
paigns. This  work,  of  course,  had  to  be 
done  after  their  day's  duties  were  over.  Also 
they  are  looking  after  their  own  dependents 
and  have  drawn  into  their  fellowship  nearly 
three  hundred  of  their  countrymen,  later 
comers  to  this  new  Fatherland ;  have  paid 
weekly  sick  benefits,  looked  after  the  unem- 
ployed, and  buried  the  dead.  None  of  them 
has  become  a  burden  to  charitable  organiza- 
tions, nor  have  they  exploited  society,  but 
they  have  contributed  to  the  national  weal  by 
performing  necessary  labor. 

One  of  their  number,  and  he  the  most 
modest  among  them,  Cannonball,  is  now  in 
government  employ,  and  is  doing  expert 
work  faithfully  for  a  wage  not  at  all  in  propor- 
tion to  the  service  he  renders.  How  proud 
he  is  thus  to  serve  his  country,  and  how  we 
all  admire  him ! 

Before  the  meeting  closed  the  service  flag 
was  unfurled.  Six  stars  shine  there  for  sons 


1 68  Unc/e  Joe's  Lincoln 

serving  our  country  "  somewhere  in  France  "  ; 
all  have  gone  voluntarily  and  the  Lincoln 
Club  is  justly  proud  of  them.  One  of  the 
stars  is  golden.  It  is  Speckled  Horse  who 
mourns  for  his  son,  who  went  with  the  engi- 
neers, and  it  was  his  company  which,  while 
safe  in  the  rear,  sprang  to  the  aid  of  the 
hard-pressed  British,  and  he  met  his  death 
doing  more  than  his  duty.  I  trust  that  Uncle 
Joe  has  met  this  brave  young  spirit  up  yon- 
der, where  they  are  remembering  us,  living 
in  the  throes  of  our  suffering. 

When  the  service  flag  had  been  properly 
hung,  Rudolph  the  lame  made  the  dedicatory 
address,  and  I  quote  the  closing  sentences  of 
his  truly  great  speech. 

"Some  day  when  we  shall  be  safely  re- 
moved from  this  unbelievable  time,  when 
passions  have  cooled  and  the  past  is  but  a 
precious  memory,  the  service  which  we,  the 
foreign-born  in  America,  have  rendered,  will 
be  recorded.  We  of  the  Lincoln  Club  are  but 
a  fraction  of  the  millions  who  have  labored 
in  mine  and  mill  to  strengthen  the  national 
arm ;  who  have  given  ungrudgingly  of  our 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club      169 

pittance  and  have  sent  out  our  sons  with 
heavy  hearts,  perhaps,  but  with  gratitude 
that  we  too  may  have  a  share  in  the  uni- 
versal sacrifice.  Our  six  stars  represent  a 
very  small  part  of  some  four  hundred  thou- 
sand alien-born  in  the  service  of  this  gov- 
ernment, and  our  gold  star  is  but  one  of 
the  thousands  which  in  splendor  shall  shine 
through  the  ages,  proclaiming  our  loyalty  to 
our  adopted  country. 

"  Let  us  go  to  our  homes  and  to  our  work 
with  new  courage  to  live,  and  suffer,  and  die, 
if  need  be ;  so  that  this  '  government  of  the 
people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people,  shall 
not  perish  from  the  earth.'  " 

The  women  were  crying  and  the  men  were 
winking  hard,  if  not  frankly  wiping  their 
eyes,  when  the  chairman's  gavel  struck  the 
table,  and  the  meeting  was  declared  ad- 
journed. 

Most  people  look  back  upon  certain  days 
in  their  lives,  which  they  call  "  Red  Letter  " 
days,  and  among  many  such  in  my  life  I 
recall  two,  with  feelings  of  profound  grati- 


'170  Uncle  'Joe's  Lincoln 

tude :  one  was  the  day  when  I  received  offi- 
cial notice  that  I  had  been  made  an  honorary 
member  of  the  Lincoln  Club  on  the  East  Side 
of  New  York — the  other,  when  I  had  the 
long-desired  opportunity  to  visit  the  city  of 
Springfield,  Illinois,  and  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  tomb  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

It  is  a  commonplace  enough  city,  like 
many  another  in  the  great  Mississippi  Valley, 
but  to  me  it  was  holy  ground ;  there,  where 
"Abraham  Lincoln  walks  at  midnight,"  I 
saw  the  house  where  he  lived,  read  the  tab- 
lets which  mark  the  places  where  he  prac- 
ticed law,  and  then  I  went  out  to  visit  his 
tomb.  Ornate  it  is,  and  too  much  so ;  noth- 
ing is  there  which  interpreted  to  me  his 
genius  and  character.  There  were  many 
sightseers,  who  talked  loudly  and  walked 
irreverently,  where  only  a  whisper  should 
disturb  the  silence. 

When  they  left  (and  I  was  thankful  to  see 
them  go),  convincing  the  guard  that  I  meant 
no  harm,  I  went  close  to  the  tomb,  the  stony 
bed  in  which  our  loved  martyr  sleeps,  and 
the  story  of  Uncle  Joe  passed  through  my 


The  East  Side  Lincoln  Club      171 

mind,  with  all  that  my  knowing  him  had 
meant  to  me  and  the  comrades  of  my  youth. 
Placing  a  wreath  upon  the  tomb  in  the  name 
of  the  East  Side  Lincoln  Club,  I  pledged  to 
his  country,  which  is  ours,  and  to  his  cause, 
also  ours,  our  loyalty  and  devotion  forever. 

Strange  it  seemed ;  yet  why  should  it  be 
strange?  As  I  read  the  inscription  carved 
in  stone,  the  speech  which  I  made  at  the 
burial  of  Russian  Hill  came  back  to  me  word 
for  word,  and  I  repeated  it  aloud.  There  was 
one  sentence  which  I  repeated  three  times : 

"  With  charity  toward  allt  with  malice 
toward  none." 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


BIOGRAPHY  AND  MEMOIR 


ERVIN  S.    CHAPMAN,    P.P. 

Latent  Light  on  Abraham  Lincoln 

and  War  Time  Memories 

Large,  8vo,  illustrated,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $4.06  net. 
Edition  de  luxe,  in  two  volumes,  net  $5.00. 

This  work  is  the  product  of  more  than  half  a  century  of 
diligent  preparation  and  labor.  It  is  added  to  the  vast  Lincoln 
library  in  the  belief  that  it  contains  much  fresh  and  therefore 
unpublished  information  relative  to  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the 
men  and  events  of  his  day. 

S.  EARLE  PURINTON 

Petain   The  Prenared    With  an  Appreciation  by 
JTCUIIU,   A  ue  jriepareu    General  Le0nard  Wood. 

With  Frontispiece.    I2mo,  boards,  net  5oc, 

A  remarkable  study  of  the  gallant  defender  of  Verdun,  now 
generalissimo  of  the  French  Army.  Mr.  Purinton'»  vivid 
analysis  puts  its  finger  on  the  outstanding  characteristics  of 
the  great  Frenchman,  and  deduces  therefrom  lessons  which 
might  with  profit  be  taken  to  heart  by  all. 

CLARA  E.  LAUGHLIN  Author  of 

Everybody  s  Lonesome,    ett, 

Reminiscences  of  James WhitcombRiley 

Illustrated,  boards,  net  750. 

"This  most  human  book  concerning  one  of  America's  best 
loved  poets  tells  many  incidents  and  anecdotes  about  Riley 
not  previously  published.  There  are  also  clever  notes  and 
fragments  of  verse  which  Miss  Laughlhi  has  preserved  dur- 
ing the  quarter  century  she  enjoyed  friendship  with  the  poet." 
-—The  Continent. 

BISHOP  ALEXANDER  WALTERS      Bishop  of  African 
•  M.  E.  Zion  Church 

My  Life  and  Work 

Illustrated,  8vo,  cloth,  net  $1.50. 

"Bishop  Walters  was  one  of  the  outstanding  figures  of  the 
colored  race  in  America,  and  this  account  of  his  life  and 
work,  completed  only  a  few  days  before  his  fatal  illness, 
will  be  readily  welcomed  by  the  large  numbers  of  people 
who  hold  him  in  genuine  and  well-merited  esteem."-— Citizen's 
Advocate. 

JUNIUS  B.  REMENSNYPER,   P.P.,  LL.D. 

What  the  World  Owes  Luther 

I2mo,  cloth,  net  SDC. 

All  his  salient  characteristics  are  brought  out  by  the  well- 
known  Lutheran  pastor  with  vivid  directness  and  picturesque 
fidelity.  In  addition,  there  are  chapters  of  present  moment 
dealing  with  Luther's  attitude  to  war,  and  the  debt  which 
America  and  the  world  at  large  owe  to  the  great  Reformer. 


THE  LATEST  FICTION 


ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER  Author  *f"pies  Is  Plgf* 

Dominie  Dean 

A  Tale  of  the  Mississippi.  Illustrated,  I2mo,  clotK, 
net  $1.35. 

"Those  who  like  Ellis  Parker  Butler's  stories  have  a  sur- 
prise coming  to  them.  There  is  no  reminder  in  its  pages  of 
'Pigs  is  Pigs,'  or  the  other  whimsicalities  of  the  Butler 
school.  It  is  a  lifelike  story  filled  with  everyday  people- 
small,  narrow,  prejudiced,  self-centered  people,  as  well  as 
some  surprisingly  bitter  ones.  Among  them  the  dominie 
moves,  patient,  hopeful,  true  to  his  trust.  It  is  a  story  that 
comes  dangerously  near  to  tears  at  times." — Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer, 

"Mr.  Butler  has  told  his  tale  well.  If  it  could  be  circulated 
in  the  thousands  of  communities  of  the  kind  in  which  David 
Dean.  lived,  it  would  pay  for  its  writing  many  times  over.  It 
is  in  Mr.  Butler's  best  vein,  and  is  enjoyable  throughout."— 
N.  Y.  Evenine  Post.  , 

CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY  Author  of  "The  Web 

•  of  Steel"  etc, 

When  the  Sun  Stood  Still 

I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.35. 

A  finely  conceived  romance  of  the_  days  of  Joshua. 

"Cyrus  Townsend  Brady  has  written  another  historical 
hovel,  a  tribute  to  the  Jewish  people,  showing  them  in  the 
days  when_they  were  valiant  fighters  on  the  battle  field.  It 
is  a  gripping  story  which  will  prove  entertaining  to  those 
who  like  historical  novels." — Post-Dispatch. 

MARY  CAROLINE  HOLMES 

"Who  Follows  in  Their  Train?" 

A  Syrian  Romance.    Illustrated,  cloth,  net  $1.25. 

The  charmingly  written  account  of  an  American  girl's  ad- 
Ttntures  in  the  land  of  Syria.  Into  it  are  woven  soft 
romantio  elements,  such  as  becometh  a  story  written  beneath 
the  shadow  of  glorious  Lebanon,  in  a  region  of  wondrous  sun- 
sets, quiet  sheep-folds  and  the  scent  of  orange  blossoms. 
Those  who  read  and  succumbed  to  the  fascination  of  "The 
Lady  of  the  Decoration,"  may  anticipate  a  similar  pleasure 
from  this  delightful  volume. 

FRANCIS  GEORGE 

The  Only  Nancy  _ 

A  Tale  of  the  Kentucky  Mountains.  ^I2m6,  clotH, 
net  $1.25. 

A  story  of  a  Southern  mountain-community,  told  with  viv- 
idness and  power.  The  author's  long  association  with,  and 
knowledge  of  these  people  enables  him  to  write  with  freedom 
and  fidelity  of  the  region  made  famous  by  John  Fox,  Jr. 
Nancy,  the  central  figure,  is  a  real  flesh-and-blood  character, 
as  indeed  are  all  the  rest  of  the  people  in  the  pages  of  "Thfl 
Only  Nancy." 


FICTION,  JUVENILE,  ETC. 


J.  J.   BELL  Author  of  "  Wee  Macgregw>t 

Cupid  in  Oilskins 

I2tno,  cloth,  net  $1.00. 

"Much  of  the  charm  of  "Wee  Macgreegor*  and  'Oh! 
Christina"  is  found  in  this  satisfying  story  of  love  and  war. 
'Charlie'  is  a  gunner  on  a  British  patrol  boat  who  is  inspired 
to  attempt  the  sinking  of  an  enemy  submarine  partly  from 
devotion  to  a  lass  admired  by  many  a  lovelorn  sailor.  There 
is  fun  in  the  story  with  patriotism  and  a  high  sense  of  honor 
and  withal  a  tenderness  for  which  Bell's  heroes  and  hero- 
ines are  noted." — The  Continent, 


PROF.  EDITARD  A.  STEINER          Author  ef"  The  Imtni- 
•  grant  Tide."  etc. 

My  Doctor  Dog 

i6mo,  boards,  net  500. 

A  famous  author  in  a  new  vein.  Taking  for  a  theme  his 
possession  when  a  boy  of  a  little  fox-terrier,  Prof.  Steiner 
furnishes  some  altogether  delightful  pictures  of  the  land  of 
bis  childhood,  and  of  the  quaint  manners  and  customs  obtain- 
ing in  the  land  of  the  Carpathians.  The  story  is  given  an 
American  application  sequel,  in  which  all  Prof.  Steiner'a  rich 
endowment  as  a  powerful  and  sympathetic  writer  finds  full  play. 


A.    FREDERICK  COLLINS 

The  Magic  of  Science 

Profusely  Illustrated.     I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.25. 

Time  will  never  hang  heavily  on  the  hands  of  the  boy  who 
owns  this  book.  It  is  a  work  that  will  appeal  to  every  boy 
or  girl  from  nine  to  ninety.  Its  pages  open  up  a  practically 
unending  vista  of  entertainment,  which  is  as  much  valuable 
knowledge  as  it  is  diversion  and  amusement.  Nearly  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  sketches  illustrate  the  text. 

FLORENCE   PELTIER 

Through  the  Rainbow 

A  Fairy  Story.  With  Illustrations  in  color  by 
Clara  P.  Wilson,  and  in  black  and  white  by  Jewel  L. 
Morrison.  Small  quarto,  cloth,  net  $1.00. 

In  some  respects  the  reader  is  reminded  of  "Alice  in  Won- 
derland"; in  others,  met  only  by  new,  original  fancies.  A 
book  of  sheer,  unalloyed  delight.  To  a  captivating  story  told 
in  the  freshest,  most  charming  sort  of  way,  an  added  wealth 
of  illustrations,  done  both  in  color  and  black-and-white,  com* 
plete  a  "straight  cut"  to  the  heart  of  a  child. 


BOOKS  FOR  MEN 


ROBERT  E.    SPEER,    P.P.  Mtrrick Lectures,  1917, 

Ohio  Wesley  an  University 

The  Stuff  of  Manhood 

Some  Needed  Notes  in  American  Character, 
net  $1.00. 

Dr.  Spee_r  holds  that  the  moral  element^  of  individual  char- 
acter  are  inevitably  social  and  that  one  service  which  each 
man  must  render  the  nation  is  to  illustrate  in  his  own  life 
and  character  the  moral  qualities  which  ought  to  character- 
ize the  State.  To  a  discussion  of  these  ideals  and  some  sug- 
gested methods  of  their  attainment,  Dr.  Speer  devotes  this 
stirring,  uplifting  book. 

CORTLANP  MYERS,   P.P.  Minister  of 

'  Trtmoni  Temple,  Boston 

Money  Mad 

I2mo,  doth,  net  SGC.          '  :      -^ 

The  fearlessly-expressed  views  of  3  popular  pastor  and 
preacher  on  the  all-important  question,  of  Money.  Dr. 
Myers  shows  how  a  man  may  make,  save,  spend,  and  give 
money  without  doing  violence  to  his  conscience,  or  his  stand- 
ing as  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Christ. 

CHARLES  REYNOLDS  BROWN,  P.P.     Yale  University 

Five  Young  Men 

Messages  of  Yesterday  for  the  Young  Men  of  To- 
iday.  I2mo,  cloth,  7Sc. 

Dean  Brown's  literary  output  is  always  assured  of  wel- 
come and  a  large  reading.  His  new  work  is  specially  suitable 
to  students  in  college,  or  young  men  in  business  or  in  the 
home.  But  the  general  reader  of  almost  any  type,  will  be 
able  to  find  something  of  value  in  this  latest  volume  from  the 
pen  of  a  recognized  writer  of  light  and  leading. 

DEWITT  McMURRAY    of  the  Dallas  Daily  News 

The  Religion  of  a  Newspaper  Man 

I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.50. 

"Every  one  of  the  chapters  sparkles  with'  a  thousand  gems 
that  Mr.  McMurray  has  dug  out  of  obscure  as  well  as  better- 
known  hiding-places  and  sprinkled  in  among  his  own  thoughts 
His  quotations — and  there  are  literally  thousands  of  them— 
are  exquisitely  timed  and  placed."— -Springfield  Republican. 

BURRIS  A.  JENKINS,  P.P. 

The  Man  in  the  Street  and  Religion 

I2tno,  cloth,  net  $1.25. 

"In  a  convincing  and  inspiring  way  and  in  3  graceful 
style,  the  author  presses  home  this  truth,  the  result  of  years 
of  trained  study  of  human  nature.  The  book  is  the  k'T'ji 
that  'the  man  in  the  street'  well  enjoy." — Boston  Globe. 


FICTION,  JUVENILE,  Etc. 


CYRUS  TOfTNSEND  BRADY  AND  SON 

\Veh  of  Steel    ILLUSTRATED  BY 
veu  ui  oieei     THE  KINNEYS 

A  Story  About  a  Father  and  Son  by  a  Father  and 
Son  for  All  Mankind.  I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.35. 

"All  who  delight  in  adventure  stories  will  find  a  thrill  in 
every  chapter  in  this  story  by  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady."—- 
Des  Moines  Capital. 

ABE         CORY 

The  Trail  to  the  Hearts  of  Men 

A  Story  of  East  and  West.  Illustrated,  I2mo, 
cloth,  net  $1.35. 

A  story  of  action  and  power  with  the  scenes  laid  in  China. 
The  hero  is  a  man  of  high  ideals,  determined  upon  a  life  of 
high  purpose.  Social  ties — including  a  sweetheart — endeavor 
to  hold  him,  and  he  has  to  come  to  the  cross-road  of  decision. 
He  chooses  for  his  higher  ideals  to  find  in  the  long  run,  the 
other  things  are  his.  There  is  much  of  the  spell  of  adventure 
in  the  story,  and  some  quickly-moving  scenes  that  grip  and 
hold  the  reader  with  undiminished  interest. 

S.      HALL    YOUNG  Author  «/  "Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir" 

The  Klondike  Clan 

Illustrated,  I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.35. 

Out  of  his  wonderful  experiences  in  the  great  Northwest, 
Dr.  S.  Hall  Young  has  evolved  a  story  of  breathless  interest 
dealing  with  the  days  of  the  Great  Stampede  to  the  Yukon  in 
the  days  of  the  gold  cra_ze.  Dr.  Young's  adventures  are  real 
adventures,  through  which  he  and  those  of  whom  he  writes 
literally  passed.  A  book  of  vigour,  interest  and  power. 

/.    /.    BELL  WITH  "KITCHENER'S  MOB" 

Wee  Macgreegor  Enlists 

Illustrated,  I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.00. 

"A  rare  and  rollicking  book,  is  this  one.  For  all  its  fun, 
it  gives  a  graphic  picture  of  present-day  Scotland  and  the 
Scotch.  But,  oh,  it's  the  wee  Mac  and  Private  Thompson 
and  Christina  that  belong  in  the  Caledonian  Hall  of  Fame!" 
— Evening  Sun. 

CHARLES   H.    LERRIGO  Doc  William's  Stronghold 

The  Castle  of  Cheer 

I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.25, 

"One  resounding  note  of  optimism,"  "Doc  Williams  is  a 
benefactor  of  the  race,  for  in  these  pages  he  succeeds  in 
instilling  a  note  of  cheer  into  the  soul  of  a  fellow-mortal.  It 
is  a  strong,  inspiring,  invigorating  story,  spicy  with  romance 
and  humor." — The  Continent. 


NEW  EDITIONS 


S.  HALL  YOUNG 

Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir 

Illustrated,  I2mo,  cloth,  net  $1.15 

"Do  you  remember  Stickeen,  the  canine  hero  of  John 
Muir's  famous  dog  story?  Here  is  a  book  by  the  man  who 
owned  Stickeen  and  who  was  Muir's  companion  on  that  ad- 
venturous trip  among  the  Alaskan  glaciers.  This  is  not  only 
a  breezy  outdoor  book,  full  of  the  wild  beauties  of  the  Ala_s- 
kan  wilderness;  it  is  also  a  living  portrait  of  John  Muir  in 
the  great  moments  of  his  career."  —  New  York  Times, 

S.    R.    CROCKETT  Authtr  tf«Silvit  Sand."  ttc. 

Hal  'o  the  Ironsides  : 


Illustrated,  12010,  cloth,  net  $1.25. 

"Crockett's  last  story.  A  rip-roaring  tale  of  the  days  of  the 
great  Oliver  —  days  when  the  dogs  of  war  were  let  loose  in 
English  meadows,  and  "the  gallants  of  England  struck  home 
for  the  King."  —  Examiner. 

FANNY   CROSBY 

Fanny  Crosby's  Story 

By  S.  Trevena  Jackson.  Illustrated,  cloth,  net  $1.15 

"This  is,  in  a  way,  an  autobiography,  for  it  is  the  story  of 
Fanny  Crosby's  life  as  she  told  it  to  her  friend,  who  retells 
it  in  this  charming  book.  All  lovers  of  the  blind  hymn 
writer  ought  to  read  thi*  volume.  It  tells  a  story  of  pathos 
and  of  cheer.  It  will  strengthen  the  faith  ana  cheer  the 
heart  of  every  reader."  —  Watchman-Examiner, 

PROF.  HUGH  BLACK 

The  New  World 

i6mo,  cloth,  net  $1.15. 

"Dr.  Black  is  a  strong  thinker  and  a  clear,  forcible  writer. 
Here  he  analyzes  national  tendencies  toward  unrest  —  social, 
material,  religious.  This  he  does  with  moderation  yet  with 
courage,  and  always  with  hopefulness."  —  The  Outlook. 

S.  M.  ZWEMER,  P.P.,  F.R.G.S.      Auth>r  ./  «Aratia.»  ,*. 

Childhood  in  the  Moslem  World 

Illustrated,  8vo,  cloth,  net  $2.00. 

"The  claims  of  millions  of  children  living  and  dying  under 
the  blighting  influence  of  Islam  are  set  forth  with  graphic 
fidelity.  Both  in  text  and  illustrations,  Dr.  Zwemers  new 
book  covers  much  ground  hitherto  lying  untouched  in  Mo- 
hammedan literature,"  —  Christian  Work. 


